


Enter Sandman

by slrandomperson



Category: Bandom, Blink-182, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, Green Day, Kansas - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, America's Suitehearts (Music Video), As I go along I'll try to remember to tag more things I forgot, Attempted Sexual Assault (very minor), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, High School, Kind of also an America's Suitehearts AU, Lots of legends on the staff here, Lots of sleepovers but in a cute way, M/M, Pete's emo, School Dances, Secrets, Slow Burn, Superpowers, Supervillains, it's cute i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-07-06 18:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15891741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: High school was kind of awesome, and even in his Senior year he still wasn't sick of it. Patrick loved every second; he had phenomenal grades, he shed a few bad friends and he got to hang out by the soccer field with his laptop after school. The only thing he didn't like was Pete Wentz, all-around fuckboy. He never really did anything to Patrick, per se, his whole presence was just. Annoying. And now they have to be English partners for the whole second semester.Little does Patrick know that his life is about to be altered forever, and not just in a cheesy way. In a dangerous, 'Oh my god someone is trying to destroy the city and the local fucking superhero and I have to save it' way.ORPete Wentz is way too charming and Patrick should not have to like him, and now he could also possibly die at age eighteen.





	1. There's Always Time To Change Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imagining_Fantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_Fantasy/gifts).



> So...welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! Expect regular updates every week. There should be no delays, since I've already finished. I just have to hit Publish! I hope you enjoy it. <3
> 
> Title is from Enter Sandman by Metallica.
> 
> Quick plug: my Tumblr is sophie-m-leo. Follow for notifs on new works!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Shots by Imagine Dragons.

High school was kind of awesome, and even in his Senior year he still wasn't sick of it. Patrick loved every second; he had phenomenal grades (set to be the class Salutatorian, or even Valedictorian if Frank Iero would back the fuck off), he shed a few bad friends (all of them, luckily) and he was finally able to bring his laptop to school. One of Patrick's favorite things to do was sit on the bleachers by the soccer pitch and work on GarageBand.  
  
Another reason he loved high school was that everyone felt free to be who they were. Those typical movie stereotypes were often broken down at Infinity High. For example, Patrick was a total nerd and everybody knew it, but he also loved music. The good kind that the rest of the students also enjoyed, or at least respected. And even though he was a loner and didn't exactly have "friends," people knew of him and he would gladly engage in small conversations here and there.  
  
However, the most noticeable of all the stereotype-defying kids was the most popular guy in school, Pete Wentz. God, Patrick hated that kid. Pete was everything he didn't like: a metalhead, a jock, and not to mention emo. He walked around school with his fucking Nightmare Before Christmas tattoos and his jet black fringe and terrifying eyeliner and Metallica shirts and that soccer ball like he was Chad from High School Musical. He was obnoxious and kind of a fuckboy and Patrick couldn't stand him, but the only quiet-ish place during free period was the bleachers by the field Pete always practiced on with the rest of the team. One of the most infuriating things about him was that he had the best grades in English out of the whole school (Patrick was third, still behind Frank Iero), but he was failing pretty much every other class according to his Snapchat story. Why people posted their grades was a mystery to Patrick, along with the _Pete Wentz added you by username_ notification he received last year. Luckily, Pete was definitely not in the running for Valedictorian with his shit GPA.  
  
That's why Patrick had mixed feelings about being assigned to proofread his work during the poetry unit. Sure, his job would definitely be easy, but he'd have to spend time with Pete, sit next to him for the whole second semester and have his own work edited by the black-clad douchebag, not to mention the group project looming over everybody's heads like a grey cloud.  
  
But for the moment, Patrick was happily tapping away at his laptop after school, composing probably his best piece yet. He had experimented with a lot of electronic loops in this one, and it sounded pretty fucking fantastic.  
  
"Hey there, Stumph!" and a crash of a body hitting the bleachers beside him.  
  
Startled, Patrick snapped his laptop shut and blinked at the person sitting next to him. Recognition struck a moment later, and Patrick narrowed his eyes. "Wentz."  
  
"Dude, were you watching porn?" Pete asked, panting a little from the tiring soccer practice currently in session.  
  
"No!" Patrick hissed, stuffing the laptop into his backpack.  
  
Pete grinned. "Chill, I'm kidding." He chugged a bottle of water, Adam's apple bobbing hypnotically. "So, I was thinkin' about this whole project thingy, right? And, like, even though she's giving us all the info tomorrow, I figured we should pick who we're gonna' team up with now. You know Andy and Joe?"  
  
If Pete was referring to the vegan punk kid and the geeky stoner, then yes, he did know. "Yeah, get to the point," he snapped.  
  
"Jesus, okay." Pete's cocky grin dropped into a more serious expression. "They seem smart enough to work with."  
  
Patrick sighed. "You just want to hang out with Andy, don't you?"  
  
"Bingo. But, I mean, you and Joe will hit it off, I'm sure. He's, like, nerdy."  
  
"He reads comic books and smokes weed. Not all nerds read _comics_ ," Patrick snarled, offended that Pete thinks all kids like him are exactly the same.  
  
"Holy shit, I'm _sorry_ , okay? What did I—"  
  
A voice called from the bottom of the bleachers. "Pete? Come on, baby, you gotta' play!"  
  
Both boys looked down to see Bleta, Pete's girlfriend this month. She wasn't particularly cool or popular, but she was a genuinely good person, and Patrick knew that if she were with anyone but Pete, they would be with her because they like her. But Patrick didn't exactly trust Pete, so he figured there had to be some ulterior motive. Sex, her dad was the soccer coach at the college Pete wanted to go to...Patrick had a few theories.  
  
"Be down in a sec!" Pete turned back to Patrick, grin now reappearing at the sight of his girlfriend. "Let's exchange numbers and text tonight, okay?"  
  
Reluctantly, Patrick took out his phone and held it out to Pete, not bothering to hide the look of contempt on his face. Pete added himself to Patrick's contact list before handing his own phone over. Patrick held it like it was a moldy slice of bread and cautiously typed in his number.  
  
"You're not gonna', like, catch straight boy disease from me, you know that right?"  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "What makes you think that's what I'm worried about?"  
  
"I don't know, aren't you gay or something?"  
  
With narrowed eyes, Patrick grabbed his phone from Pete's hands. "No."  
  
"Huh. Well, I like your phone case."  
  
Patrick smiled sarcastically, giving Pete's phone back to him. "Thanks," he said dryly.  
  
"Did ya' see what Sandman did yesterday?"  
  
"Saw it on the news. Didn't he, like, stop Wrexa from bringing down the Willis Tower?"  
  
Pete nodded. "It was fuckin' dope. Alright, catch ya' later!"  
  
"Please don't."  
  
Frowning, Pete descended the steps and wrapped Bleta into a tight hug. Patrick watched him kiss her like his life depended on it. Pete then ran back onto the field.  
  
Tearing his eyes away, Patrick gazed across the other side of the soccer pitch at Gabe Saporta, Pete's best friend and the designated second-hottest boy in the whole school. The first place trophy clearly went to Pete, but that was just a general consensus. Patrick would never admit to finding someone as _ugh_ as that guy attractive.  
  
You see, even though Patrick was definitely not gay, he was also not exactly straight. He was technically bisexual or maybe even pan, but he decided to just not label it so that if anyone asked he'd have a cop out. Digging out his laptop and headphones, Patrick got back to work on his composition. He was not going to let the douchey soccer team distract him.  
  
That night, Patrick's phone dinged. He groaned and didn't pick it up, since he knew it would definitely be Pete. Instead, he examined his phone case. It was black, the only design being the shining white gleam of Sandman's trademark beaming smile. He turned on the television to see a breaking story: _Sandman's condition unconfirmed since yesterday's battle in the city._ Usually, the hero would make some kind of appearance so that Chicago and its surrounding suburbs knew he was okay, but it seemed that he remained silent (well, he had never spoken a word in public, so Patrick supposed he remained invisible rather than silent). This was worrying.  
  
Feeling distressed, Patrick turned off the TV and headed upstairs to his room after saying goodnight to his mom. As he tried to fall asleep, he stared at the poster on the wall across from his bed. While he'd never admit to finding that asshole Pete Wentz attractive, he did find Sandman extremely hot, at least what he could see of him. It was hard to make out some of his facial features behind the eye mask he wore, but his smile was blinding even without the painted-on grin. The poster was fan made, but it was a pretty incredible photograph. It was taken from the fourteenth floor of an office building and depicted Sandman rising up on a mountain of that obsidian sand he could conjure from nowhere, fists raised and ready to fight the villain (probably Wrexa) out of the frame. It was a closeup too, so Patrick could make out his angry snarl that was typically overshadowed by that painted smile.  
  
Sighing, Patrick closed his eyes, drifting off into a dreamland of cities and superheroes.  
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛  
  
Upon waking up, Patrick discovered that his phone had fallen off the nightstand, and as a result, he had slept through the alarm.  
  
"Shit shit shit shit," he muttered to himself, stumbling out of bed and grabbing the phone. It was 6:30, thank god. He had only lost fifteen minutes.  
  
He vaguely wondered why his phone was on the floor, but then he saw the notifications. His phone must have vibrated right off the nightstand.  
  
_Hottie: hey its me_  
  
_Hottie: patrickkk_  
  
_Hottie: pattycakes_  
  
_Hottie: u there? you said we'd talk_  
  
_Hottie has added you to a group_  
  
_Hottie: hey guys_  
  
_Unknown number (3): Yo_  
  
_Unknown number (4): heyyy Pete!_  
  
_Hottie: guys this is my best friend patrick hes asleep cuz hes lame_  
  
_Unknown number (4): lmao Gabe's been replaced_  
  
_Unknown number (4): speaking of lame I have to go to bed too. Mom's gonna kill me_  
  
_Unknown number (3): Aw come on Andy._  
  
_Hottie: shut up weedface let him rest_  
  
_Unknown number (3): At least I don't unironically listen to Evanescence like a fucking emo hipster._  
  
_Hottie: HEY_  
  
There was a slew of other messages Patrick couldn't be bothered to read, but it was enough to piss Patrick off. These three assholes thought they had the right to suddenly befriend him? No way. Okay, actually, Andy seemed pretty cool. But still, he didn't want or need friends. Patrick rolled his eyes and changed Pete's name in his contacts.  
  
When he pulled up to the school, he sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. He did not want to go to English, he did not want to see Pete, he did not want to spend the rest of the semester, and subsequently the rest of his schooling experience before college, with Pete Wentz. Pulling out his phone, he opened the stupid group chat.  
  
_Patrick Stump: Just so we're all clear, this chat will only be used for educational purposes, got it? I am not interested in being behind on the actual assignment because I had to turn off notifications._  
  
He then went to his and Pete's private messages.  
  
_Patrick Stump: I'm never letting you get ahold of my phone again._  
  
A few seconds passed.  
  
_Loser Wentz: what you know its true ;)_  
  
_Patrick Stump: I changed your name to Loser Wentz so you technically just called yourself a loser._  
  
_Loser Wentz: :'(_  
  
Patrick smiled a little. It was kind of funny, you have to admit. He got out of his car and slung his backpack over his shoulder, still grinning to himself as he approached the door.  
  
"Aw, are you smiling 'cause of me?"  
  
His expression immediately dropped into a glare as Pete slipped between him and the door. "No, I was think about...something."  
  
Pete quirked an eyebrow. "Does Patty have a girlfriend?"  
  
"No," he snapped, trying to step around Pete, but the soccer player just blocked his path again.  
  
Grinning down at Patrick, he adjusted his own bag on his shoulder. Of course it was black. "We gotta' talk to Andy and Joe at some point. You cool with meeting at the library after school?"  
  
"Sounds dope."  
  
"Did you just say ' _dope_ '?" Pete asked, snickering as his smile made the corners of his eyes crinkle.  
  
Patrick looked him straight in the eye. "That's what fuckboys like you say, right?" he deadpanned.  
  
Pete's grin fell. "Seriously, man, what is your _problem_ with me? I'm just tryna' be nice." Patrick just stared at him, confused, before Pete sighed and looked at the ground and avoided Patrick's eyes. "Whatever, just. Library. After school."  
  
Wanting to protest, Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but Pete had already gone off to rejoin his soccer-jersey-clad group loitering by the front steps. It was probably for the best, anyway, since Patrick didn't want to piss Pete off even more. He bit his lip to keep from frowning and entered the school.  
  
By the time free period rolled around, Patrick had suppressed his confusion and let it linger in the back of his mind. He was at his usual spot on the bleachers, wiping the leftover snow from last night's January drizzle off the seat. Why the soccer team practiced during Winter was a complete mystery. As he tapped away at his laptop with some unfinished GarageBand mixes blasting in his earbuds, he vaguely wondered why Pete was so upset. It's not like the way Patrick treated him was completely undeserved...right?  
  
Come to think of it, actually, Patrick had never really heard of Pete doing anything bad. He didn't do drugs or cheat on tests or copy homework. He was just kind of a fuckboy; it seemed like every month he had a new girlfriend.  
  
Patrick saw a shadow wash over his laptop, so he looked up to see Pete sitting on the bleachers next to him. He wouldn't meet Patrick's eyes as he timidly twiddled his thumbs. "Hey, so, uh, you don't have to come to the library. You don't even have to work on this project with us. I just think you'd be a valuable asset in our group, but I understand if you'd rather just take an F and not have to talk to me."  
  
Staring at him with wide eyes, Patrick pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "No, i-it's fine. I'm...I'm fine."  
  
A grin suddenly broke out onto his face. "I knew you couldn't resist me. See ya' later, Lunchbox!" Pete took off toward the soccer field and Patrick couldn't stop himself from frowning. _That's_ why he hated Pete; right.  
  
English was an outright nightmare.  
  
Patrick talked to Andy and Joe for the first time, and they seemed pretty cool. The only problem he had was Pete. He would make stupid comments and tell dirty jokes for no reason, and he said "Tu es un petit chou," when Patrick didn't believe he was taking French.  
  
The teacher, Mrs. Love, finally announced the project that everyone had heard about from the Seniors last year. "You can pick up the full detail packets on your way out, but I'll give you the general information now. You have all been assigned to your partners for the rest of the semester, but aside from daily work you will have a project due at the end of the year. Pair up with another set of partners and select a topic—whether it be political, research or something else—and write an informative paper, probably around ten pages, about it. I'm giving you a lot of freedom with this one, so choose a subject you're interested in, and make sure to check up with me so I can give you the green light. Then, I will ask your group to write a poem about your topic and find a creative way to present it. The poem can be freeform and does not have to include any facts from your paper. Poetry is about emotion; leave facts to the informative essay. Any questions?" No one raised their hand. "Good. Now choose your groups and see the packets for other information."  
  
Andy and Joe dragged their desks over to face Pete and Patrick's, as the whole class was seated in pairs. "Anybody got topic ideas?" Joe asked while Andy went to the front of the room to get four packets.  
  
Pete slammed his hands down on the table. "I got it." He jumped up and ran up to Mrs. Love's desk, talking fast and excitedly waving his hands around and pointing at the boys. Mrs. Love raised an eyebrow and nodded, scribbling something down next to each of their names in her grade book.  
  
Andy dropped the packets on their desks. "What's he doing?"  
  
Patrick groaned and dropped his head on the table. "He picked a topic without us."  
  
When Pete came back, he was beaming. "I did it, guys."  
  
Glaring up at him, Patrick pointed a finger accusingly. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"I knew you probably wouldn't like my idea, so—"  
  
"So you decided to force us into doing it? That's a fucked up thing to do, Pete. You're insane."  
  
" _But_ —"  
  
"No _but_ s, you're a fucking maniac!"  
  
Joe intervened. "Pete, what's our topic?"  
  
He grinned. "Gay rights."  
  
"Oh. My _god_ ," Patrick groaned, smacking his head back down on the desk. "Why why why why _why_ would you do this? We're not even gay!"  
  
Pete shrugged. "The LGBTQIA plus community needs cishet allies."  
  
"The LGB- _what_?"  
  
"They need who?" Andy asked, confused.  
  
"I think you mean 'whom,'" Pete said.  
  
Joe just crossed his arms and shook his head. "You're crazy, Wentz, but I guess we have to do it now."  
  
Patrick stood up. "Nope. I'm gonna' go talk to her. I'm gonna' tell her that we didn't—"  
  
"Patrick, stop," Joe said.  
  
"Yeah, it's whatever. We have no other ideas," Andy agreed.  
  
Pete smiled. "See, 'Trick? I'm a genius."  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes, huffed and sat down. "You're insufferable, Peter Wentz, I hope you know that."  
  
"Ooh, I like it when you're mad. It's cute."  
  
"Oh _fuck_ you."  
  
"Say that again."  
  
"I swear to god I will fuck you up, Pete."  
  
"I'm taken, sorry."  
  
Patrick started yelling at Pete and hitting him as the older boy just laughed, and a few people looked up from their packets to see what all the commotion was.  
  
"Boys, that's enough. Do I have to separate you?" Mrs. Love asked from her desk.  
  
"Yes please!" Patrick shouted at the same time that Pete said, "No, we're good."  
  
Mrs. Love frowned. "Pete, Patrick, come here." Patrick's face flushed red as he and Pete took the walk of shame up to Mrs. Love's desk. "Boys, are we going to have issues for the rest of the year?"  
  
"Yes," Patrick said while Pete smiled and said, "No, ma'am."  
  
Sighing, Mrs. Love put her head in her hands. "Patrick, don't hit Pete. Pete, don't provoke him."  
  
"Okay," they said unison, but Pete was laughing. He was actually trying to hold in laughter, but failing miserably.  
  
The corners of Mrs. Love's lips twitched. "It's not funny, Pete."  
  
"With all do respect, ma'am, it's hilarious."  
  
Mrs. Love was laughing a little too now, while Patrick just crossed his arms and glared at Pete. "Can you two please get back to work now? If this happens again I'll have to give you both detention and I don't want to have to do that."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Pete said, grabbing Patrick's arm and dragging him back to their desks. Patrick sunk down in his seat as Pete smiled that stupid fucking smile. "You blush a lot."  
  
"Yeah, because that was embarrassing."  
  
Pete chuckled. "It was not. Imagine us getting detention. You'd be alone in a room with me for hours, nothing but each other to be entertained by."  
  
"Sounds like a nightmare."  
  
Andy rolled his eyes. "Can we get on with this already?"  
  
Patrick spent the rest of the period with his head on the desk, trying not to feel Pete's emo fuckboy presence radiating off of his golden skin. The other two boys actually got some work done while Pete was on his phone, and judging by the vibrations in Patrick's pocket, he was not doing anything productive.  
  
He didn't want to, but Pete kept whispering things like "Check your phone, 'Trick," and "I texted you." So he pulled out his phone and kept his forehead on the desk as he unlocked it, tapping on his messages.  
  
_Loser Wentz: hey_  
  
_Loser Wentz: patrick_  
  
_Loser Wentz: trick_  
  
_Loser Wentz: answer me_  
  
_Loser Wentz: p_  
  
_Loser Wentz: a_  
  
_Loser Wentz: t_  
  
_Loser Wentz: r_  
  
_Loser Wentz: sorry is this annyoing_  
  
_Loser Wentz: please notice me_  
  
_Loser Wentz: patrckk_  
  
_Loser Wentz: i miss ur face_  
  
_Loser Wentz: can u look at me_  
  
_Loser Wentz: ok sorry the reason i was texting u was because i wanted to know why u hate me_  
  
_Loser Wentz: like did i do skmething_  
  
Patrick frowned.  
  
_Patrick Stump: Why do you care?_  
  
_Loser Wentz: because i dont like it when ppl hate me_  
  
_Loser Wentz: and if i did something i wanna make it better_  
  
He supposed that was valid reasoning, but he was still suspicious.  
  
_Patrick Stump: You didn't do anything, necessarily. You're just..._  
  
_Patrick Stump: You know._  
  
_Loser Wentz: annoying?_  
  
_Patrick Stump: Not what I was going to say, but yeah._  
  
Patrick locked his phone and slipped it back into his pocket, ignoring the vibrations.  
  
When the bell finally rang, he sprinted out of the room without a backward glance. English was his eighth and final period, so he went out and sat by the soccer field before going to the library. Hey, he was a bisexual teenage boy, he wanted to at least get a glimpse of Gabe Saporta here and there. He decided to pull out his phone while he waited for the team to arrive.  
  
_Loser Wentz: then what were u going to say?_  
  
_Loser Wentz: patrick_  
  
_Loser Wentz: trick_  
  
_Loser Wentz: im sorry_  
  
_Loser Wentz: im so sorry_  
  
Patrick's eyes went wide. Pete was apologizing? For what? His personality?  
  
He heard the familiar yelling of the soccer team, so he looked up to see Gabe and Pete walking a little ahead of the other players. Gabe was saying something, but Pete wasn't listening. He was looking at Patrick. But then his stare dropped to the ground in front of him, so fast that Patrick felt like it never even happened.  
  
For the entirety of the practice (two hours!), Patrick watched the team. Typically, he'd be working on GarageBand and sneak a few glances at Gabe here and there, but today he was only focused on watching the practice. How the tight uniforms fit on the players' toned bodies, how they could run and run and run and never seem to tire, how the sweat ran down his face and his smile brightened up the whole field, how his muscular tattooed arms shined under the warm glow of physical exertion, how his eyeliner just made him look cooler instead of a cringe emo dickwad...  
  
Patrick flinched and sat up straight, fumbling for his phone and pretending to do something, mostly just tapping away at random buttons. Pete had looked at him. He had seen Patrick staring, he had seen the insane stalker-y way that Patrick was watching him, oh no, oh god no.  
  
He wasn't even sure at what point he started staring at Pete. He was just watching the players practice, and then he suddenly found himself getting drunk off of Pete's gorgeous body, holy shit...  
  
When practice was over, Patrick made his way down the bleachers. He attempted to slip away while Pete was chugging his water bottle, but just as he had a clear path to sprint to the library—  
  
"Patrick?" the familiar voice asked, panting and a little out of breath.  
  
He cringed inwardly and turned around, forcing himself to smile a bit. "Hi."  
  
Patrick braced himself for the worst, Pete making fun of him for staring or telling the whole team about it, but neither of those things happened. "You wanna' walk with me?"  
  
Shocked, Patrick just nodded. "Okay."  
  
Pete opened his mouth to say something, but Bleta ran up to him from somewhere in the bleachers. "That was awesome, baby! You're so hot when you play soccer." She held onto Pete's arm and kissed him on the cheek, and it was only then that he tore his gaze away from Patrick, smiling a little distractedly.  
  
"Thanks, Bebe. I was just gonna' go work on a project. Call me later?"  
  
"Sure thing," Bleta said, letting go. "Is this Patrick?" she asked, looking at the shorter boy.  
  
Smiling a bit sheepishly, Pete nodded. "Yeah. I'll, uh, see you later." Patrick vaguely wondered how she knew his name.  
  
"Of course. Bye, Patrick!" Bleta said, winking before she went back to hang out with her friends.  
  
As Pete and Patrick began the five minute walk to the school's library, Pete tried to make polite conversation.  
  
"So, I always see you on your laptop at practice. What do you do on there? You know, since it's not porn."  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "Just...music stuff. Private stuff." To his surprise, Pete didn't push the subject. "Bleta seems nice."  
  
He smiled, kicking a rock down the path. "Yeah, she is."  
  
"You call her Bebe?"  
  
"All her friends do. Speaking of, who's your crowd? You got people you hang out with?"  
  
Patrick blushed, embarrassed about not having friends for the first time in his life. "No, not really."  
  
Pete scoffed. "Oh, come on, everyone has friends."  
  
"Even me? 'Cause I don't see any around here."  
  
Confused, Pete bumped Patrick's shoulder. "Whadya' mean 'even you?' You've gotta' have, like, a thousand friends. You're cool."  
  
Trying not to blush again, he just said, "I attacked you in eighth period today."  
  
"Like I said: cool." Patrick didn't say anything else, so Pete continued with, "You can always hang out with me and my friends. They're awesome."  
  
Patrick's eyes went wide. "The soccer team? Yeah, um, no thanks."  
  
"Aw, come on, why not?"  
  
"They'd hate me."  
  
"Give 'em a chance. And why would anyone hate you? You act like I murdered your whole family and even I still like you."  
  
Patrick frowned. "What does that mean?"  
  
Laughing, Pete said, "You hate me, Lunchbox. I can see that; I'm not blind. But I can tell you're learning to tolerate me."  
  
"I do not, nor have I ever hated you."  
  
"Sure, Jan." A few more seconds of silence.  
  
"Can you only communicate through memes?"  
  
With a fake pained expression, Pete put his hand over his heart dramatically. "Oof."  
  
"Oh _god_ , you're insufferable."  
  
Pete's laughter was soft, a lot different and more sincere than Patrick had ever heard before. It was nice, almost as if they were...friends.  
  
"Hey, I don't..." Pete broke the silence as they neared the library. He sucked in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. If I did something. I don't know why I keep, like, making it worse, but whatever I did, I'm sorry."  
  
Patrick was surprised. He wasn't expecting a face-to-face apology, especially not when there was no reason to apologize. "Pete." He stopped, and Pete followed suit. "You didn't do anything."  
  
"Then why—"  
  
"I think I just always assume guys like you are all the same. Fuckboys with no respect. I'd rather push them away than get made fun of first."  
  
"'Guys like me'..?"  
  
Patrick sighed. "Athletes. Jocks. Popular guys. Whatever."  
  
Pete's crooked smile was hypnotic. "I'm glad we're gonna' get to know each other, then, because you get to see how fucking wrong you are. I'll show you just how respectful I can be." He pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing, leaving just his soccer jersey on in the cold Winter air. "Patrick Martin Vaughn Stumph," he shouted, "I present to you the Ultimate Sweatshirt Of Gentlemanly Respect, trademark symbol!"  
  
He knelt in front of Patrick, holding out his black sweatshirt. It had the Infinity High Rams logo on the front, along with the number '15' and his last name stitched into the back.  
  
"Okay first of all, how do you know my full name? Second, did you just say 'trademark symbol'?"  
  
Pete laughed. "Doesn't matter, and yes. Now put it on and let me be fucking respectful!"  
  
"Pete, I-I can't—"  
  
"It's just a sweatshirt! Please?" Patrick stared down at his adorable pleading eyes.  
  
He sighed. "Fine." Gingerly taking the sweatshirt, he slipped it on over his head. It was baggy on both of them, just the way Patrick liked it.  
  
"I like being number fifteen."  
  
"Why?" Patrick asked, trying not to breathe through his nose because he doesn't want to get used to Pete's surprisingly attractive scent.  
  
Grinning, Pete said, "Because I can do this." He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of Patrick's ear. "Number fifteen, Burger King foot lettuce—"  
  
"Oh, fuck _off_ ," Patrick said, laughing and shoving Pete away. "That's a dead meme!"  
  
"All memes are dead memes."  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes, and they finally made it the final twenty feet to the library's door. Upon going inside, Patrick was hit with a rush of warm air. He felt much too hot to be wearing a sweatshirt, but he didn't want to take it off. It was oddly comforting, probably because it was so warm after Pete had worn it.  
  
Just think; Patrick had gone from hating the guy to wearing his clothes in less than ten minutes. Not to say that he didn’t still completely despise Pete, but still. Huh.

Just think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment and a kudos if you're looking forward to the next chapter! I don't know how many there will be exactly, but you can expect a better estimate at some point. See you next Friday!
> 
> <3
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo


	2. Stardust In My Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from King Of The Clouds by Panic! At The Disco.
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> Enjoy <3

"Andy!" Pete shouted, and about a dozen students glared up from their books and shushed him. "What's up, man?"

They had finally made it to the library after the quite alarming display outside. Patrick was still a bit weirded out, after all, he fucking  _hated_ (okay, maybe not that far, but he still disliked) Pete, and the guy had made a big deal about giving Patrick his sweatshirt and being nice to him and everything. Patrick began to wonder why he was letting it affect him this much.

A guy with red hair and the craziest tattoos Patrick had ever seen stood up, held a finger to his lips and waved them over. "You're fuckin' _loud_ when you want to be, man."

Pete grinned and Patrick followed him to the table Andy was sitting at, cowering behind him like the new kid hiding from the class. "Hey, where's—"

A shout cut Pete off. "I'm here!" Joe's voice called as he stumbled through the doors and slammed into the seat next to Andy. "I'm here."

Patrick frowned. Now he was going to have to sit next to Pete. They both plopped down into their chairs.

"So," Pete began, "first thing's first. Do any of us here like guys?"

Everyone was silent. Joe sniffed. "What about Patrick? I've never seen you with a girl."

Rolling his eyes and attempting to conceal his blush, Patrick said, "So? You haven't seen me with a boy. And maybe I'm just not good at talking to girls."

"Do you even _try_?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

"I mean, I've _tried_ talking to girls before, it just never really works."

The amused glint in Pete's eye was infuriating. "You know that not all girls are the same, right? Talking to a few or even hundreds doesn't mean you know what all of them will be like. Take me and Bebe for example; she's not like any other girl I've ever dated, and none of my exes have been the same as anybody else. It's a whole new experience every time."

"Don't you want it to stop at some point?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't you want to stop dating at some point? Be in a relationship you can maintain for the rest of your life, or something."

Pete shrugged. "Obviously, yeah. But right now I'm just trying to find my person, you know? I know pretty early on whether it'll work out or not, which is probably why you think I'm a fuckboy."

Patrick blushed. "Sorry."

"Eh, no worries. I get it."

"But, the whole thing about girls is, no matter what I do I don't think I'll be able to get one."

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Is this you being all self deprecating?"

Patrick shrugged. "I just don't see why anybody would be interested in me."

"Shut up!" Pete shouted, earning more glares, especially from Andy. "You're hot, you're fuckin' gorgeous. If you were a girl I'd totally do you." Patrick flushed beet red, mouth slightly agape. "Like, you have really good skin, and your mouth is really nice, and your eyes are so pretty, and—oh! One of my favorite things about you is your thighs." Patrick's jaw fell at this, as Pete was now placing both of his hands on Patrick's right thigh. He began to enthusiastically describe how much he liked Patrick's legs, but the strawberry blond swatted at his hands timidly. This guy had no fucking _filter_.

"Don't...Don't do that."

Pete stared at him for a moment before yanking his hands away, embarrassed. "No, yeah, I mean...of course. I was just—yeah. I'm sorry, I got a little carried away. I just wanted you to stop, like, saying that stuff about yourself. I'm sorry." He folded his hands and stared down at his lap.

"Pete, it's fine." Patrick bit his lip and awkwardly patted Pete's shoulder. "Just, don't do it again. I appreciate it though."

Pete remained silent, so Joe coughed a little bit. "Okay, anyway...ideas, anybody?"

Everyone was quiet. It appeared that nobody had any idea what they were doing. "Pete? You're the idea man. Lay one on us," Andy offered.

Pete said nothing and stared blankly at his hands.

Sucking in a breath, Patrick knew what he had to do. "You know, I really like your hair." Without waiting for a response, he ran a hand through Pete's dark fringe. He didn't know if he was doing this right, especially since he didn't particularly _like_ Pete. Well, his personality, at least. "And I like your face. Like, it's really, um, defined, and you obviously take care of your skin." Patrick moved his hand down to hesitantly hover by the side of Pete's face as he finally turned to look at him with a slightly shocked expression. Patrick dropped his hand. "And the eyeliner just. Wow. It brings out your eyes, you know?"

Eyes dark and smile bright, Pete slammed his palm on the table, and Patrick flinched. "See? I fuckin' _told_ you that people dig the eyeliner!" he shouted, and Joe shushed him.

Andy rolled his eyes. "Patrick would say anything to get you to stop being weird."

"Do you know how gay that was?" Joe asked, resting his chin on his hand.

"Yeah. It was kind of incredible to watch," Andy added.

Pete grinned again. "I can turn anybody gay."

"Especially the girls," Patrick said.

Joe and Andy burst into a fit of laughter, causing the librarian to come over and chastise them. "Boys, kindly shut up."

"Sorry, Mr. Armstrong," Pete said, biting his lip to hold in the laughter.

As soon as the librarian walked away, Joe whispered, "Maybe you two should do this project by yourselves. You seem to know what you're doing. But, I do have to agree with Pete. Patrick's pretty sexy."

Patrick flushed and looked away, crossing his arms like a pouty little girl.

Pete bumped his shoulder. "Hey, fuck off, Joe. He's mine."

"I am neither yours nor Joe's."

It wasn't until he got home that he realized he was still wearing Pete's sweatshirt. He shoved it into the back of his closet.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

So weeks went by and Patrick didn't necessarily hate Pete anymore. The four of them had hung out a lot after school, occasionally going to Andy or Joe's houses or Patrick's apartment. They spent the time working, or at least trying to but then getting distracted by Joe's _awesome_ shag carpet. Pete had drawn a dick on it with his finger.  
  
("Pete, what the hell is wrong with you?"  
  
Pete just shrugged, glancing at the doorway. Andy and Joe were in the kitchen. "A lot of stuff."  
  
Snorting, Patrick rolled his eyes. "Oh, really? Like what?"  
  
"Well, super bipolar, for starters."  
  
Patrick's eyes went wide, and he dropped his crossed arms, sitting beside Pete on the floor. "Do you wanna' talk about it?"  
  
Pete grinned, leaning his head on Patrick's shoulder. "Some other time, dude. Thanks."

It was just one of many signs that Patrick and Pete would actually turn out to be great friends. That, and Pete constantly saying _I think we're going to turn out to be great friends_.)

It was English class once again, sometime in late January. Mrs. Love stood at the front of the room. "Alright, for the past couple of weeks you've all been solely working on the project. But, for the moment, we're gonna' take a little break from that during class. You can still work after school, if you want, but today we'll be _really_ starting our poetry unit. I hope you all grabbed the syllabus on your way in." Patrick stared down at the packet in his hands.  
  
"Ooh, do we get to work together, 'Tricky?" Pete whispered, nudging Patrick with his elbow.  
  
Patrick frowned. "I guess so."  
  
"Wow, don't get too excited."  
  
"This is just a draft to see how far along your skills are, so it will not be graded. Your partner will not make edits of any sort, but they will read over your poem to make sure it is appropriate. We've had... _incidents_ before."  
  
Pete wiggled his eyebrows. "You wanna' read my sexy poetry, Pattycakes?"  
  
"Not really, no."  
  
He frowned. "Why are you bein' so mean again? We were fine last week!"  
  
Patrick sighed. "It's the middle of class, Pete. Hush."  
  
Pete went silent, and Patrick gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back. Thank god.  
  
"You may write about any school appropriate subject. That means no drugs," Mrs. Love looked at Joe, "no sexual themes," she looked at Ashley Frangipane, "and no cursing," Gabe Saporta.  
  
Gabe was busy scribbling something down on a piece of paper already, and Mrs. Love raised her eyebrows. "Would you like to share with the class what you've been doing, besides paying attention?"  
  
Grinning, Gabe stood up. Reading from his paper, he said, "This poem is titled 'Fuck The Rules.' Ahem. _Fuck the rules, just like I fucked your sister last night. Fuck the rules, why you gotta' be so uptight? Fuck the rules, throw a punch and start a fight. Fuck the rules all fucking night._ Thank you."  
  
Mrs. Love didn't even look scandalized like Patrick expected. She just looked annoyed. "You already know your way to—"  
  
"Principal? Gotcha'."  
  
On his way out the door, Mrs. Love called, "Oh, and Gabe?"  
  
"Yep?"  
  
"Go see a therapist."  
  
Gabe grinned. "Will do, Mrs. L."  
  
Patrick slammed his head on the table and tried to block everything out. But Pete was poking him in the side and whispering, "Pat, ya' good?" in his ear.  
  
"Don't call me Pat," he mumbled.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
Patrick sat up, no longer paying attention to Mrs. Love. "I'm fine."  
  
"Good. I just wanna' make sure my Patrick's okay."  
  
"I'm not your anything."  
  
Pete grinned. "You're my friend, right?"  
  
And suddenly, no explanation, Patrick blushed. He had never really thought of them as friends, definitely not last semester. But the past few weeks have been quite eye opening.  
  
"Yeah, we're friends."  
  
His grin somehow got even wider. "Awesome."  
  
"Boys?" Mrs. Love called loudly. "Pay attention, please."  
  
After school had ended, Patrick found himself waiting for Pete by the bleachers. He didn't use the soccer practice as an excuse to work on GarageBand this time, and he hadn't really been doing it ever since that day at the library. But he hadn't waited for Pete like this since then, either.  
  
"'Trick? Hey! What's up?" Pete yelled, out of breath as he jogged over to where Patrick was as standing.  
  
"Oh, uh, I just wanted to see if you'd, like, wanna' walk with me."  
  
Pete's eyes practically sparkled like a fucking anime character. "Definitely! Lemme' get my stuff." He grabbed his bag and water bottle, running back over to Patrick. "I gotta' change. Locker room?"  
  
Nodding, he walked off to the boys' locker room with Pete staying unnecessarily close. Patrick totally forgot what being in a locker room entailed, so when Pete yanked his soccer jersey off and shoved it in a locker, Patrick fought off a massive blush and forced himself to look away. Shirtless Pete was hot, god _damn_.  
  
When he was done changing, he turned around and smiled softly. It was much less shiny than all the other grins he'd thrown at Patrick, but that just made it more sincere somehow. "Hey, are you free tonight?" Pete asked quietly.  
  
Patrick smiled. "Yeah. I can text Andy and Joe if—"  
  
Pete cut him off. "No, I mean, like. Just you."  
  
"You want to hang out? Just us?" Patrick was surprised.  
  
Nodding, Pete gave him that half-smile. "Is that okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Patrick said, perhaps too quickly. He cleared his throat, fighting back the blush creeping up his face. "Yeah, that sounds good."  
  
They walked back to Patrick's apartment together (twenty minutes of conversation sprinkled through an overwhelming pool of silence) and he held the door open for Pete as they kind of awkwardly shuffled inside. "So," Pete said, leaning against the kitchen counter.  
  
"So."  
  
Pete grabbed a box of crackers off the counter and dug in, as Patrick had told him he could eat whatever. "I want to see your room," Pete said around a mouthful of cracker.  
  
Patrick cringed. "It's back here," he said, leading Pete down a little hall and pushing his door open.  
  
It was a modest room, a window displaying the gorgeous view of an alleyway on one wall and a bed against the adjacent side of the room. The dresser was across from the bed and directly next to it was the huge poster of Sandman.  
  
"I like your poster," Pete said, failing at hiding his grin as he walked over to stand right in front of it. He crossed his arms and gazed up into Sandman's face. "He's kinda' hot, don't you think?"  
  
Patrick bit his lip. "I mean, I guess so."  
  
"You guess so?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Patrick sat down in the swivel chair at his desk. "Fine, yeah, he's hot."  
  
Pete turned around and leaned against the wall, and Patrick just smiled. But then he glanced at the poster, and then back to Pete, and back and forth again as his smile fell into a look of curiosity.  
  
"Hey, you kind of—"  
  
"You know what would be fun? If I just, sat here. On your bed. That'd be fun," Pete interrupted, plopping down on the edge of the mattress in the corner of the room.  
  
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "I was just gonna' say that you kind of look like Sandman."  
  
"Is this your way of telling me you think I'm hot?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Patrick mumbled, "Gabe probably thinks you are."  
  
Pete's eyes went wide. "What?"  
  
"Oh, no, it's just. He seems fond of you."  
  
Pete started laughing so hard that he fell back onto the bed, covering his teary eyes with his hands.  
  
"Look, all I'm saying is that it seems like Gabe totally has a crush on you!" Patrick said. "You can see it in the way he looks at you."  
  
Sitting up and wiping his eyes, Pete said, "Nope. Gabe looks at me just like everybody else does. It's you that's different. Are you sure that _you_ don't have a crush on me?" Pete teased.  
  
Patrick's smile hardened into a serious almost-glare. "I don't."  
  
"Yeah, okay."  
  
"Pete, I fucking don't." And he wasn't lying. This wasn't some form of cute denial; he just really didn't think of Pete that way. He had only just started  _tolerating_ the guy, after all.  
  
Pete's eyes weren't exactly wide, but they were suddenly dull, as if the mischievous twinkle had died. "I'm sorry, I was just kidding. Chill." A few seconds of silence. "Are you, though? Are you gay, I mean?"  
  
"You have asked me this multiple times, you motherfucking—"  
  
"Fine, fine! Are you, like, bi?"  
  
"Why do you think—"  
  
"Because I wanna' know, okay?"  
  
Patrick didn't say anything. He just picked apart Pete's expression to try finding his hidden motive.  
  
"I won't, like, stop being friends with you. I love hanging out with you." He could have said he _liked_ hanging out with Patrick, but okay.  
  
Patrick sighed. "Fine. I'm bi. But," he said, trying to stop Pete before he could say anything. His grin was wide enough to indicate that he was definitely planning on saying something. "That doesn't mean that I have a thing for you."  
  
"I know, I know! This is awesome!"  
  
Giving Pete this look of _Are you fucking crazy_ , Patrick swiveled his chair back and forth. "How?" he asked miserably.  
  
"I-D-K," Pete said, flopping onto his back.  
  
"Why would you _say_ I-D-K?"  
  
Pete was still smiling. "I-D-K."  
  
After a few seconds of silence, Patrick decided to change the subject. "What kind of music do you like?"  
  
"Oh, you know. Metallica, Guns N' Roses, Gorillaz, really the basics. You?"  
  
"Elvis Costello has to be one of my all time favorites. Oh, and there's Elton, Prince, MJ...Oh god, and Bowie!"  
  
Pete sat up. "Bowie? Like, David Bowie?"  
  
"Yeah! Why, you like him?"  
  
"Oh, I haven't listened. I was just happy that I recognized somebody's name," Pete said, giving a lopsided grin.  
  
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "You haven't heard of Michael Jackson or Prince?"  
  
Pete shrugged. "Not Prince, but I didn't know what MJ meant. Of course I've heard of Michael Jackson. Love that Beat It song, it reminds me of jacking off."  
  
"Oh my _god_. You fucking weirdo."  
  
Grinning, Pete wiggled under the sheets on Patrick's bed. His chest tightened in a completely foreign way at the sight, and he didn't like it at all. "How does it go again? _Just beat it, beat my dick, yeah_ ," Pete sang jokingly, not even anywhere close to the tune of the song.  
  
"No, you fuckin' idiot."  
  
Pete rolled his eyes. "Then how _does_ it go?"  
  
Without a second thought, Patrick sang a bit of the chorus. It wasn't anything special, he wasn't belting it out and he was relatively quiet, but Pete fell silent.  
  
Wordlessly, Pete slid out of the bed and didn't take his eyes off Patrick as he crossed the room at an excruciatingly slow pace. Patrick swallowed and pushed his glasses up, trying to ignore the blush rising up his neck and turning the tips of his ears bright red.  
  
"You didn't tell me you could sing," Pete said carefully, like Patrick could break if he spoke too quickly.  
  
"I-I can't. I mean, I don't. Not really, anyway."  
  
Pete crouched in front of him and shoved his way between Patrick's legs, gazing up into baby blue eyes. Patrick kicked a little bit, trying to force Pete away, but it was no use. Besides, Pete's intention was not anything sexual (Patrick was still on the verge of popping a massive boner. It wasn't because he had a thing for _Pete_ , oh god no. But he was a bisexual teenage boy with a super hot guy kneeling in front of him and...yeah, anyway). He only managed to get his legs wrapped around Pete's torso, so he leaned back in the chair to keep his distance.  
  
"That was fucking gorgeous," Pete mumbled, resting his elbows on Patrick's thighs.  
  
Face now properly hot (and probably very red), Patrick sucked in a nervous breath. "I don't really sing. Just, like, in the shower."  
  
The fleeting thought of _Why would I give him that imagery_ , and then Patrick couldn't even look Pete in the eye.  
  
"So...does this mean I get to take credit for discovering you when you're a billionaire and on your world tour and you obviously invite me along because I'm your best friend in the whole wide world?"  
  
Patrick scoffed to hide his overwhelming joy. "What makes you think you're my best friend?"  
  
Pete's eyes noticeably dulled, and then Patrick regretted saying that. "Am I not?"  
  
Huffing, Patrick smiled a little bit. "Okay, maybe you are. But. It's only because I have, like, no other friends. And I'm not gonna' be going on a fuckin' world tour or anything."  
  
"Yes, you will," Pete promised, the usual sparkle returning to his gaze. "You're incredible, dude. You're golden, and you're my ticket out of this city. I _knew_ there was a reason we met!"  
  
Patrick was finally able to keep his blush under control. "I'm not gonna' let you use me for your fucked up escape-the-city fantasy."  
  
"No, no, I wouldn't go if you weren't coming with. If it was anybody else I wouldn't go."  
  
"Why? Don't you want to get out?"  
  
Pete grinned. "I just wanna' be wherever you are." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! See you next Friday. I promise actual plot things will be happening soon.
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> <3


	3. If You Say Hide, We'll Hide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Let's Dance by David Bowie. How fitting. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3
> 
> Tumblr plug!! Follow me at sophie-m-leo :)

Pete was officially obsessed with David Bowie, and it was all Patrick's fault. Even two weeks after he had decided to impress Patrick and listen to a song or two. Or sixty. 

He did homework with Bowie's Spotify on shuffle, blasted it through the shower speaker, listened to it in his earbuds during every class when they had free time and every single passing period. He listened to it while he was waiting for soccer practice to start and when he went on morning jogs on the weekend, and every time he was alone at home he played it on the speakers throughout his house. What he totally _wasn't_ doing was imagining Patrick's voice singing along. But if he was, could you blame him? He just wanted to hear it one more time, but if he did he knew he'd get addicted.

He may or may not have gotten so used to the music that he stopped noticing when it was on. So when he heard the doorbell ring one Saturday, he went and answered it straight away, knowing it was one of the guys coming over to work on the project.

Pete pulled the door open and blinked down at the sight in front of him. Flushed cheeks, hat pulled down as far as it could go without blocking his vision, plump pink lips, starry baby blue eyes. It was an image that Pete would never get used to but he'd like to try. Would you ever get used to an angel falling to your doorstep?

"Well? Are you gonna' let me in?"

Pete had learned to appreciate Patrick's sass. He grinned and stepped aside, letting Patrick into the house. The shorter boy looked confused for a second before recognition struck his eyes, and that was when Pete remembered the music. "Oh, um—"

"Is this Bowie?" 

"Well, you, uh—I mean, it's not, like, um. You said, and then I just thought I'd. You. Um." Pete lost the train of thought he had _just_ started to catch as he watched Patrick's lips curve into a smile. It was almost hypnotic.

And yes, it's a total cliche, but Jesus _Christ_ Pete was fucked.

Patrick closed his eyes and mumbled the words, searching his mental index of Bowie's discography for the title of the song currently playing. "Is this Soul Love?"

Swallowing, Pete nodded. This happened to be his favorite song at the moment, and he listened to it almost obsessively. Patrick beamed up at him and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost like a million tiny butterflies were writhing in pain.

The song faded out as it ended, and then the sweet sound of a piano drifted through the house. Patrick's eyes lit up. "Life On Mars is my favorite!" Pete felt dizzy. "You told me you don't listen to Bowie."

"Because I didn't. I mean I don't."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Pete bit his lip, sitting down at the kitchen table. "I mean, I didn't until you..." He trailed off, looking up at Patrick. 

His eyes were bright and his smile was wide, and Pete almost didn't care that it was at his expense. "Did _I_ get you into David Bowie?"

Pete nodded.

"Ha! Yes! Holy shit, I got to you. I finally did it. I broke you!"

Groaning, Pete rubbed his tired eyes. "Shut _up_."

"Hey, do you know what I've always wanted to do?" Pete frowned and shook his head. "I feel like ballroom dancing to this song would be fun. Like I always imagined that they'd play it at prom and my date and I would go out to the dancefloor and just kill it, you know?"

The sick feeling dissipated. "Oh really?" Pete stood up and faced Patrick. "You know they'd never play this at prom."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed.

"So...let's just do it now." 

Patrick's face immediately flushed red. "P-Pete—"

"Come on, it'll be fun," he whined, taking Patrick's hand as the boy's blush deepened. Pete dragged him into the living room and turned up the music from his phone. 

"Do you even know how to dance?" Patrick asked, pulling his hand away.

Pete shrugged. "I've seen movies."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick smiled a bit. "I'll help you."

"Okay, but you're gonna' be the girl."

"Fine. Being the girl is more fun anyway."

Pete almost blushed at what that was suggesting, even though he knew Patrick didn't mean it that way.

"Okay," Patrick began, "your hands go...here," he said, cheeks tinted pink as he guided Pete's hands to his hips. "And then I just..." He wrapped his arms around Pete's neck and didn't look at his eyes. 

"Isn't there, like, footwork?"

Patrick nodded. "You play soccer, though, so it should be easy-ish for you. My right foot goes like this, so your left goes—yeah, like that. Be careful not to step on her feet, though. And then she would step here so you go there, yeah."

Pete didn't even look at the ground. He just watched Patrick's face as he directed him, kind of just hoping wherever he stepped was right. By the encouragement Patrick was giving, he was doing pretty well.

Looking back up at Pete, Patrick said, "I think you got it."

"I wanna' do the spin thingy."

"You want to _twirl_ me?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

Pete nodded. "I mean, better now with a teacher than later when I have no idea what I'm doing."

Narrowing his eyes, Patrick nodded. "I guess. Okay," he sighed, "take my hand like this." He reached down to Pete's hand at his hip and raised it above their heads. "And then while I do the thing you just straighten your arm, okay? Ready?" Pete nodded.

Patrick turned like he was a fucking ballerina, and Pete was captivated by the sight. He straightened his arm out to the side as Patrick spun away, and they smiled as they looked at each other, both on the brink of laughter. Patrick turned as Pete pulled him in, and they laughed when they were back in the same position as before, only microscopically closer. Pete wondered if Patrick sensed that or if he didn't notice.

They stared at each other for a moment, just smiling and stepping around the living room, before Patrick closed his eyes and rested his head on Pete's shoulder. He hoped that Patrick couldn't hear his heart beating faster, hell, he fucking prayed to Jesus himself.

Pete had never hated Patrick, not like Patrick hated him. He had never done anything to hurt Patrick. All he did was annoy the kid because he _liked_ him. For a while now, actually. Probably since Junior year when Patrick had bitched at him for still not knowing how to use a microscope correctly, or perhaps Sophomore year when they had to be 'married' for a whole quarter in Sociology and Patrick refused to talk about the pros and cons of putting their baby in daycare in front of the class. Or maybe the first day of Freshman year when Pete had looked at him. It was the first in a series of many looks.

Now the weirdest part of this all was the fact that Pete didn't actually _know_ if this was normal. He didn't think he had a crush on the guy; he hadn't ever felt that way about a dude before. But he knew something was different, something was special about this golden kid with the golden voice. It was something that reminded Pete of himself, not just on a mental or emotional level but some kind of vibe, an energy like no other rolling off of Patrick's skin. Pete intended to find out what that was.

Pete wasn't tall enough to do that cute chin-on-head thing, but he pulled Patrick's hips closer and leaned his head to the side, feeling Patrick's hot breaths against his neck. Patrick began to softly sing along to the chorus, and Pete almost moaned at his angelic voice. If this was real life, Pete no longer felt like dying.

The doorbell rang.

Patrick was off of him before Pete knew what was going on. His hands slipped away from Patrick's hips and he couldn't help but frown as he turned to answer the door.

"Wait, Pete." Pete looked back at Patrick, and that sick feeling came back again. "Music." 

Feeling like an idiot, Pete pulled out his phone and disconnected from the speaker. "Thanks," he mumbled before opening the door. Andy walked right in without saying a word, but Joe laughed and politely asked if he could come in.

Plastering that fake grin on his face, he nodded. Sometimes he wished he could just paint a smile on like Sandman. 

When they were all in the kitchen, Patrick stood at the opposite end of the table from Pete. He pretended not to notice and instead decided to brainstorm some ideas.

"Okay, so, I know we're still in the research phase, but I've already come up with a name for our poem: Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty." 

Andy raised an eyebrow. "No."

"Come on, relax! We can call it G-I-N-A-S-F-S. If people ask what it stands for, we'll tell 'em. That way, it's their fault if they didn't want to hear it."

He could see Patrick opening his mouth to protest, but luckily Joe started talking first. "Great idea. Okay, Andy and I will get to work on compiling a list of famous homosexual people and you two can continue on the history thing."

Pete nodded, grinning. "Sweet." But then his phone dinged, and he looked down to see a notification reading: _Warning: WX_. He sighed, the alert blinking yellow on his screen. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry but I gotta' go."

"Bailing again, I see," Andy said flatly. This was not the first time it had happened.

"I'll be back. Stay if you want. Brainstorm, I dunno'. Just don't go in my room,obviously."

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

The first thing Patrick did when he had left was go in his room, obviously. If Pete was leaving him to do all the work by himself again, he was not going to respect the guy's wishes. Andy and Joe had gone into the living room to lay out a bunch of papers and pictures of people to organize some kind of timeline, so Patrick took the opportunity to explore.

He didn't look for the room so much as hope to stumble across it. The house wasn't massive, but it was bigger than Joe and Andy's. Luckily, it happened to be the first door on the left when he went up the stairs.

As soon as he opened the door, he knew that this was the place. Tons of posters for bands that Patrick both did and did not recognize lined the walls, Gorillaz and Rancid and something called Joy Division. The sheets were black and the pillows were various shades of gray, and the desk in the corner was so dark brown that it, too, was almost black. Wasting no time, he went straight for the desk.

Pulling a drawer open, he was met with the sight of a dozen notebooks, some thick and others with so many pages torn out that the cover was larger than the content. He shoved his hand in the very back, digging out one of the thicker books. It was a pretty fancy one, too, bound with dark blue leather and a ribbon of the same color attached, acting as a bookmark.

Flopping down on Pete's bed, he was caught off guard by the overwhelming scent of Pete exploding out from the blankets. He instinctively inhaled, breathing in the wonderful aroma. Patrick climbed under the blankets because he suddenly wanted to be wrapped up like a burrito in this wonderful-smelling tortilla.

He flipped to the first page of the notebook.

_youre like a fortune cookie i opened 17 years early or a palm reader that was set like a backdated check to age 27._

_i wouldnt dare say these words aloud as i fear they would set off a chemical reaction within me or you, or that they would come across like a foreign language._

_i feel like i have snapped awake out of a coma like in a bad movie. i want to get under your skin and its not just a metaphor mostly. your eyelashes kiss off everything i say except in the way that it only makes me dream._

_infomercial love affair. your hair tipped blonde crashing on black roots, or at least thats the plan, if there ever is one. its like science but one i dont understand. turned in my badge and gun as far as anyone ever understanding me is concerned._

_i like standing in the rain. i like showing up late. i like going home early. i like having a short fuse. truly. i like the madness. i am in love with it._

_you have made me realize that there is no other reason for me to be on this planet besides connecting with you. remember this is real. even when your head is spinning and your heart is fluttering._

_dont for a second think i have forgotten you or the way you make me smile on gray days or in stormy weather. i just want to let myself be happy. id give anything not to give up on this._

Wow. That was not at all what Patrick was expecting. Maybe some random words, a few lewd drawings here and there, but holy shit, not three pages of some kind of gorgeous poetic confession.

Eager to read more, he turned to the fourth page and, of course. The word _PENIS!_ in huge block letters took up both that and the fifth page, and Patrick giggled. But the poetry continued after.

He must have been reading for close to an hour before he heard a knock at the door. "Yeah?" he called. 

"Andy and I are gonna' get going, okay? You comin'?"

Patrick thought about it. He really did. But Pete's bed was so comfortable and his poems were so nice, so Patrick just said, "No, I'm good. See you guys later," and that was that.

But he might have been too comfortable under Pete's blankets and inhaling the scent on his pillow because he didn't even hear the front door as Andy and Joe left, his eyes getting heavy, heavy, heavy...

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

The first thing Patrick saw when he woke up was the golden sunset outside the window. And then he realized that his window does not face the sunset, it faces a brick wall.

"I told you not to come in here," a voice said quietly from behind him.

Patrick rolled over and groggily rubbed his eyes. He looked up to see Pete sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. "P-Pete?"

"I told you," he repeated, "not to go in my room. And you did. And you went through my shit, and you not only managed to read one of my notebooks, but the single most personal of all of them."

Patrick didn't know what to say, so he just said, "I'm sorry."

Pete turned to look at him. "I've never shown these to anyone. Ever," he said, holding up the blue notebook.

Patrick realized the gravity of the situation as he watched a tear roll down Pete's cheek. "Hey, no, wait." He climbed out from underneath the blankets to sit next to the taller boy. "Pete, I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have...I _so_ shouldn't have—"

"Just stop. It's fine. It's whatever."

Without thinking about it, Patrick reached over and brushed the tear from Pete's cheek. "No, it's not. It was an invasion of your privacy." He stared at his own hand for a moment before realizing that it was just resting on Pete's cheek, and he was about to let it drop before Pete's hand came up to cover Patrick's.

Pete closed his eyes and leaned into Patrick's hand before he moved closer and at first Patrick thought he was going to kiss him and he got way too nervous about that. But Pete just wrapped his other arm around Patrick's neck and buried his face in his shoulder. Patrick's hand slipped from Pete's cheek to the short hair at the back of his head, and he comfortingly ran his fingers through the strands. "I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Pete mumbled against his skin, and Patrick had to fight off a shudder. Pete pulled back to look Patrick in the eye. "I'm glad that it was you. I'm glad you saw them."

"They're beautiful, Pete. Are they about Bebe?"

Frowning, Pete just said, "They're just random sentences. I don't really think they're about  _anyone_ , or really all that good..."

"Pete. This is fucking incredible," Patrick gushed, placing a hand on the blue notebook. "You're an amazing writer."

Pete blinked before his frown slowly slipped into a grin. "You're incredible." 

"I...I didn't _do_ anything."

"You've done so much more than you could ever understand. Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered, wrapping Patrick in another tight hug, pulling him down onto his back. "Can you sleep over tonight?" Pete whispered, mouth now by Patrick's ear as his body curled into the shorter boy's side.

Patrick couldn't breathe. He stared at the ceiling and tried to suck in some air through his nose, but that only served in overwhelming him with Pete's scent again. With both the sheets beneath him and the boy actually next to him, he was completely drowning in PetePetePete. He loved it.

"Sure."

A phone call to his mother and twenty minutes later, Patrick was curled up on Pete's couch, lights off and movie flashing across the television. Something called Planes, Trains and Automobiles.About ten minutes in, Pete got up to make popcorn. Patrick offered to pause it.

"Nah, I've seen this movie a thousand times."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Then why did you want to watch it?"

"Because I want to see if you notice something." 

Skeptically, Patrick turned back to the television.

Some time later, Pete was back on the couch, just a little closer than he had been before. Patrick tried not to notice.

"That's totally you and me," he said instead, as the two main characters (polar opposites) had an argument in their hotel room.

Pete grinned. "Yes! Exactly!"

As the film went on, Patrick just sighed and shook his head at all of Pete's _That will never not be funny, holy shit!_ s and bright bursts of laughter. When the movie was finally over, it was around nine or ten. Patrick was incredibly tired, even though it was still pretty early. "I'll take the couch," he said quickly.

"Don't be ridiculous. My room, come on, get up," Pete commanded, pulling Patrick to his feet. He led Patrick up the stairs and to his room, closing the door behind him.

"Okay, so, floor?"

Pete rolled his eyes. "I have a queen bed, Patrick. Come on." He gestured to the bed, and Patrick felt either sick to his stomach or giddy with excitement.

"Oh. Um, alright."

Pete wasted no time in pulling his shirt and jeans off, and Patrick had to force himself to look away. He kept all his clothes on as he slid underneath the blankets.

"Goodnight, my favorite human," Pete whispered, turning off the light and climbing in beside Patrick.

"'Night, Pete."

About an hour later, Patrick was still awake. His exhaustion didn't seem to want him that night. However, he could hear Pete's even breaths, and that gave him some form of comfort.

And then Pete turned over in his sleep. He rolled over, pressing up against Patrick's back and throwing an arm over his stomach. Patrick couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't think. Pete Wentz was cuddling him with no shirt on, holy _shit_.

Eventually, Pete's other arm made its way underneath Patrick's body, succeeding in wrapping him in a hug from behind. Pete's chin ended up hooked over Patrick's shoulder, their legs properly entangled. 

"Pete," he breathed, but there was no reply.

So another hour later, Patrick finally fell asleep with Pete Wentz spooning him. Fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you next Friday! <3
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo


	4. Gonna' Set This Dance Alight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Officially dedicated to Imagining_Fantasy, whose constant support keeps me motivated! Thank you so much :)
> 
> Happy Trench Day for my fellow tøp fans. 
> 
> Title from Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting by Elton John.
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> Please enjoy <3

Morning came and Pete woke up warm. It took him a moment to remember that Patrick was over, Patrick had slept over, slept in his _bed_. And Pete smiled as he realized that the warmth was because Patrick was curled up into a little ball and Pete had wrapped himself around that clump of gorgeous perfection. His chin was tucked over Patrick's shoulder, and he wanted so badly to use that to his advantage, maybe kiss Patrick's face until he woke the fuck up, but.

But that was really kind of a _weird_ thought to have.

Luckily, Patrick began to stir, so Pete didn't have to think about it anymore. "Who—Pete?"

"Good morning my beautiful golden sunshine," Pete cooed, nuzzling closer to Patrick. "Did you have sweet dreams?"

"Fuck off and let go of me."

Frowning, Pete flopped onto his back, wrenching his arms away. He was still so confused as to whether or not Patrick hated him. Was this kid bipolar too? "You know, you shouldn't be so pissed off at me. You're the one that went through my shit."

Patrick visibly tensed. "I said I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I know." Pete climbed out of the bed and made his way to the kitchen.

Ten minutes later, Pete was sitting at the counter stuffing a pancake down his throat when Patrick walked in. "Good morning, part two," Pete mumbled around a mouthful of pancake.

Patrick cringed. "Close your mouth when you chew, Peter."

"Well someone's feeling sassy," Pete said after swallowing.

"I'm just irritable in the morning." Patrick sat down next to him at the counter and shook his head when Pete offered a pancake. "Not hungry."

Pete shrugged. "More for me." They sat in a familiar tense silence as Pete continued stuffing his face with pancakes.

"You know, I hope you let me see more sometime," Patrick said quietly.

Raising an eyebrow, Pete took a sip of water to wash the food down. "More of what?"

"Your...Your poetry, I guess. It was really good."

Pete was flattered. He had never shown his writing to anybody, and to have Patrick of all people compliment him was the highest honor of all. When he smiled, he tried to not look as shy as he felt. "Thanks, dude. You're the sweetest."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick turned to face Pete with his whole body. "I'm not just saying that. You have real talent. I think you should pursue that."

Pete froze mid-pancake-bite. He had never really thought about pursuing poetry as a career. How would he even go about doing that? Besides, he wasn't perfect. He cared about what people thought, even if it didn't really seem like it at times. Everyone would laugh so fucking hard if he told them that he wanted to be a poet of all things.

"Just something to think about," Patrick said before standing. "I think I should probably go. I have homework."

"You could just do it here," Pete suggested, silently hoping that Patrick would decide to stay here forever.

Patrick shrugged his schoolbag onto his shoulder. "Nah, Mom's waiting for me. I'll see ya' tomorrow, though."

"Yeah, see ya'."

Pete tried not to look sad as he watched Patrick walk out the door.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

By mid February, Andy, Joe, Pete and Patrick were all sitting together at lunch. It's not that they wanted to, they just had to work on stuff, and...Okay, well, they secretly wanted to. At least, Patrick did. He got to sit next to Pete.

It was Thursday, February thirteenth when Patrick almost died. "Are any of you going to the Valentine's Day dance tomorrow?" Joe asked around a mouthful of sandwich. It was just bread and cheese and Patrick almost puked.

"No," he said, frowning.

Pete nudged his side. "Aw, come on, Pattycakes. Why not?"

Patrick shrugged. "I don't have a date."

The playful smirk turned into a beaming grin. He shoved his hand in his pocket and smacked two tickets onto the table. "Boom. Now ya' do."

From Patrick's collar to his forehead, he flushed a shade of pink. "What?"

"Bebe and I broke up, but I had already bought the tickets, so—"

"Wait, you and Bebe broke it off?" Andy cut in, surprised.

Pete shrugged. "Yeah. It was a mutual thing; we kinda' just agreed that it's for the best."

Patrick tried not to let his immense joy show on his face. "Okay, you were saying?"

"Wait, I feel like this Bebe thing is important—"

Pete ignored Andy. "I have an extra ticket, so you can be my date. Like, platonically, of course."

Nodding and letting a small smile ghost his lips, Patrick took one of the tickets. "Right. Of course."

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

Patrick heard a knock on the door. Really? Couldn't Pete just text him?

He had been getting ready for the past hour and a half, carefully combing his hair so that it fell just right, adjusting the dark blue suit he had bought in a haste the day prior and applying much more concealer than he should to hide his acne. The final touch was the black fingerless gloves. He wasn't wearing a hat, but he thought he looked relatively decent.

Patrick grabbed his phone and ticket, hurrying down the hall to find his mother waiting for him.

"Patrick, baby! Let me take a picture," his mom cooed, snapping several photos. She kept her voice low as she quietly said, "I like that boy. He has a nice, firm handshake. Good manners, too. Oh, and he's so handsome! Very sweet. He called me ma'am and he likes the flowers on the table."

"It's not like that," Patrick hissed through clenched teeth.

Patrick's mom laughed and said, "Oh, I know. But if it were, I wouldn't be complaining."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick went into the kitchen. That was where he found Pete, walking toward the fridge.

"Hey."

Pete turned to look at Patrick, and when he did, his eyes went wide. Suddenly, he was tripping over his own feet and slamming into the fridge, a loud crashing noise echoing throughout the room.

"Hey," he said hoarsely from his awkward position, one arm flying out to steady himself against the cool metal and the other crossed over his belly, both legs jutting out far in front of him.

After a moment of silence, Patrick began to laugh with his whole body, bending over and hitting his knees and tearing up a bit. "Dude, are you _okay_?"

"Y-Yeah, I'm _fine_ ," Pete said almost breathlessly, scrambling upright. "You just...caught me off guard."

Patrick smiled. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry for sneaking up on—"

"You look really hot," Pete said quickly, looking like he wanted to go curl up in a hole and die. Patrick knew the feeling. "Er, cute. I mean, good. You look really good."

His whole body burned with embarrassment. "Oh, um. Thanks. You, uh..." As he looked Pete up and down, he realized how fucking fantastic he looked in a suit. It wasn't colored like Patrick's, just a simple black suit-and-tie, yet Patrick felt the saliva building in his mouth. But nope, no way was he gonna' drool over Pete Wentz. "You look nice."

"Your mom said I look 'ravishing,'" Pete said with a smirk. "I like your mom."

"I like her too. And she’s _mine_."

Pete was silent for a little while, just staring at Patrick with a gentle smile. "Oh!" he said suddenly, whipping around to grab something off the counter. When he turned back, he crossed the kitchen to stand a few feet in front of Patrick, suddenly caring about respectful distance. "I got this for you." He sheepishly held out an orange flower with speckles of brown dotting the petals.

Staring at the single flower, Patrick took it with a shaky hand. "Oh—thank you."

"No problem. I mean, you just seem like one of those people that thinks roses are totally cliche and lame and I know orange is your favorite color, so I got a tiger lily, whatever that means, and I didn't want it to seem like a _romantic_ thing—"

"Wait, how do you know my favorite color?"

Pete bit his lip. "I stole your school file to look for your mom's number and asked her."

Patrick just shook his head. "That's really weird."

"Is it? Yeah, I was hoping you wouldn't ask..."

"I love the flower, Pete. Thank you."

This earned him the widest grin he had ever seen, and Patrick found himself kind of swooning. Pete didn't really notice, though, as now he was dragging Patrick to the front door. As Patrick passed his mother, he shoved the flower into her hands and silently dared her to ask.

"Bye, Ms. Stumph! Thank you so much for letting me take your lovely son out. I'll have him home by 10:30, promise."

Patricia smiled, a foreign sparkle in her eyes. "Keep him for as long as you'd like."

"Mom!" Patrick shouted, blushing furiously and stomping his foot.

Pete laughed and pulled Patrick down the stairs and outside, closing the door behind them. Patrick was still blushing when he saw the limo parked in the street.

"Oh my god, are you _insane_?"

"Just wanted nice things for a nice boy," Pete said, and suddenly Patrick was extremely mad that this guy was straight. Shit.

Patrick bit his lip to hide a smile. "Whatever. Thanks."

They climbed into the limo, and although there was a ton of space, Pete still crammed in next to Patrick, their bodies touching from foot to shoulder. Patrick grabbed a bowl of complimentary candy and stuffed a bunch of it in his mouth, not wanting to say anything stupid.

But Pete waited until he had swallowed to take a little box off the shelf on the wall. "I got something else for you." He pulled out a cute little orange boutonniere and held it out to Patrick. "I've got one, too." He grabbed another identical box and slipped an orange lily into the breast pocket of his suit.

Patrick wanted to crawl into a box and suffocate, he was so fucking flustered right now. "R-Really? You did this for...You...Wow, I, um, holy shit, thank you." He let Pete stick the flower into his pocket. "Seriously. Thanks."

"My pleasure. Really." Pete seemed serious, but he was seriously happy, and Patrick wanted that smile to stay there forever because Pete deserved the entire fucking world for this.

When they eventually pulled up in front of the school, Pete got out and extended his hand. Patrick sheepishly took it, letting Pete help him out of the limo. People were staring, oh god people were staring, but Pete didn't seem to care as he linked their arms and proudly marched up to the entrance of the school.

Just before they went inside, Patrick stopped. "Wait, hold on."

Pete waited. "What's wrong?"

"Your tie is fucked up. Hold on, let me..." Patrick wriggled his arm away, trying so hard to just stare at the black tie as he loosened it, pulling one end out of a loop and another loop and then his eyes flicked up to Pete's lips. He quickly looked back down, pretending not to notice the two girls whispering and pointing at them from just inside the door. "There." Patrick backed up and patted Pete's chest before smiling up at him.

The expression on Pete's face was one that he had never seen before, not on Pete. His mouth was settled in a curious line, eyes unmoving and fixated on Patrick's. He looked completely in awe. Patrick felt himself blushing again, how many times was he gonna' fucking _do_ that tonight, so he looked away.

"Alright, let's go."

Pete's lips curled back up into that usual smile as he linked their arms once more.

Pete dramatically flung the doors open, and Patrick rolled his eyes. "The party's here, bitch!"

Principal Walsh shot him the biggest glare that Patrick had ever seen. "Peter."

"Sorry, Steve!"

"Principal Walsh."

"Right, of course. See you around, Steve," Pete said, tugging Patrick into the gym.

Patrick barely had time to marvel at the gorgeous red, pink and white lights hanging down from the ceiling before Pete was dragging him to the refreshments table. He began stuffing chocolate covered strawberries and Graham crackers into his mouth, and Patrick just shook his head in disgust.

"You're fuckin' nasty."

"I'm hungry," Pete said around a mouthful of food. He suddenly gasped, coughing as crumbs flew down his throat. "Gabey baby!" he croaked, still coughing.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Chew your food." He turned around to see Gabe approaching them, all smiles and handsome silver suit. He looked good, Patrick was not going to lie.

"Mr. and Mr. Wentz, hey!"

Now it was Patrick's turn to cough. "Oh god," he muttered under his breath.

"What's up, where's your date?" Pete asked, finally swallowing his food.

Gabe shrugged. "I don't remember which girl I asked."

Pete laughed and Patrick's eyes just went wide. "The fuck, man? That's hilarious."

"It's kind of not," Patrick mumbled, but he was promptly ignored.

Pete excused himself for a moment to grab some snacks at the other end of the table, and Gabe used this as an excuse to grab Patrick's arm and force him to converse. "So, you and Pete, huh?"

"Sorry,  _what_?"

Gabe grinned. "I knew you two would end up together. Just the way he talks about you, I was like,  _Are you sure you're not in love with this kid_ _?_  and he's always like  _No we're just friends_ and I'm like  _Yeah, okay_ , but here you are. See? I was right. I'm always right."

Patrick almost choked on air. "What?" he squeaked, voice jumping high and stomach dropping low.

"Oh, yeah, he's always talking about you and how great you are and how glad he is that you don't hate his guts anymore. You caught yourself a great boyfriend, little dude."

"God, no, oh my god! Gabe! We're not, Pete and I, we...It's not  _like_ that!" Patrick's pitch had climbed a whole octave at this point.

Gabe's eyes went wide. "Wait, you're not? This isn't, like, a date?"

"No!"

"Oh...Shit, man, I'm sorry. It just seemed like, you know, since you guys are obviously pretty close on some level and you're together at the V-Day thing..."

Pete chose this moment to pop back in beside Gabe. "Gabey baby," he whined, pushing out his lower lip. Patrick felt something spark in the pit of his stomach. Not exactly jealousy, but pretty damn close. "Why does the food always suck at these things?"

"Oh, um, probably 'cause of, like, budget issues," Gabe stuttered out, still kind of embarrassed.

As Gabe and Pete continued their conversation, Patrick awkwardly watched the dancefloor. At least everybody else seemed to be having a lot of fun. He wasn't going to lie, he had thought going to the Valentine's Day dance with Pete would be a much different experience, but he did suppose he got the message that they were going as friends. He had just been receiving mixed signals from the night's previous events.

"Hey, it's Patrick, right?" a female voice asked.

He turned to see a girl with dark, curly hair and darker eyes smiling down at him. She was a bit taller than he was, and she was wearing heels, too. He silently wished he could have been taller.

"Yeah. You're...Elisa?"

She nodded, still smiling. "I saw you were over here all alone and just thought, you know. If you're not with anyone, we could maybe have a dance or two?"

Patrick's stomach flipped around inside of him. "Oh, I mean, I'm actually..." He turned his head to see Pete grinning at him. He made this little shooing motion, mouthing, _Go._

Turning back to Elisa, Patrick smiled softly. "Yeah, that sounds good."

A few songs later, Patrick found that he was actually kind of having a nice time. Pete was still at the refreshment table, but Gabe had been long gone, probably with some girl somewhere. He kept smiling at Patrick and giving him encouragement, a thumbs-up here and there...Oh, right, and there was Elisa. She was nice. Pretty, too, but Patrick just couldn't seem to find that spark he was looking for. He was still having fun, though.

"Patrick," she said suddenly, and he flicked his gaze from over her shoulder to her eyes.

"Hm?"

She gave him this kind of half-smile. "You okay?"

He nodded. "Oh, yeah, of course."

But then the song faded out, and Patrick heard a soft piano. "It's a god-awful small affair..."

His eyes went wide.

They were playing Life On Mars.

Patrick's thoughts took a complete U-turn, rewinding to a head resting on a shoulder in the middle of Pete's living room and the warmth it had planted within him like a seed ready to fucking explode into a massive angsty tree.

He suddenly didn't feel right, as if he wasn't supposed to be there. As if he wasn't supposed to be with Elisa. He frantically looked for Pete over her shoulder again, but he wasn't at the refreshment table anymore.

"You know, you really don't have to stay with me," Elisa said quietly. He stared at her again and she smiled. "It's Valentine's Day. Go dance with him."

Patrick smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Thank you. Thank you!"

He took off toward the table, frantically glancing around for any sign of Pete. He caught a glimpse of that familiar grin over by the stage. Patrick scrambled across the gym floor and almost crashed into Pete, who just turned around with wide eyes. "Patrick! What are you—"

"Did you request this song?" he asked, panting between words.

Pete raised an eyebrow, reaching out to steady Patrick, as he was now tripping over his own feet somehow. It was hot in the gym and he was wearing a suit and his head was spinning. "Yeah, I did. It's not exactly prom, but you were with Elisa and I figured you two would have fun and—"

Patrick pulled his arms away so that Pete's hands would slip from his elbows to his wrists. "It's fine. This. It's fine. Better than prom, really."

Pete just grinned, still gripping Patrick's wrists. "So why don't you go dance with Elisa?"

"Oh, um, I..." Patrick twisted his mouth and ducked his head sheepishly. He didn't exactly know why he had left Elisa so suddenly. He didn't have a plan or anything, he just knew he had to find Pete. "I kinda' wanted to dance with you?" he quietly squeaked.

Pete's smile broke out into the widest, brightest, most beautiful beaming grin that Patrick had ever seen. It was a totally cliche line but everything that was true in this world happened to be a cliche, so he rolled with it. And without another word, Pete was dragging him to the middle of the dancefloor by his wrist and crushing him in a tight hug. "'Trick, you really are the best."

"Flower, the flower!" Patrick just said, laughing as he pushed Pete away and adjusted their orange boutonnieres.

And then as the song went on, Patrick's head ended up against Pete's chest, his eyes squeezed shut as Pete softly carded the fine strands of strawberry blond hair. Patrick just listened to Pete's sure, even breaths, the calm heartbeat, inhaled his scent, almost cried. No big deal.

Pete sighed contentedly, the arm around Patrick's waist squeezing tighter. "You're my favorite Valentine, 'Tricky. Best of the best."

"Better than Bebe would have been?" Patrick mumbled into the fabric of Pete's suit.

Chuckling, Pete said, "Yeah, much better than Bebe."

The song came to a soft end and led right into some kind of fast dance music (Patrick didn't know any popular songs; the Top 40 radio no longer interested him). Pete frowned and Patrick stared up at him. "You okay?"

Pete looked down with those hot whiskey eyes and Patrick felt himself melt. "You wanna' leave?"

Patrick laughed. "Sure."

After retrieving his jacket, Patrick looked around and saw Pete waiting by the door, grinning and holding out his arm. Patrick had to make a snap decision right then and there, and he only had the amount of time it took to walk to the door, and—

He was suddenly next to Pete. Instead of looping their arms, Patrick rolled his eyes and laced their fingers together, making Pete's arm drop to his side. "You ready?"

Pete's eyes were shining. "Yeah."

Patrick was tired, okay? That's the only reason that he leaned his head on Pete's shoulder in the limo and closed his eyes, and also why he forgot to let go of Pete's hand. Don't look at him like that. _Stop it._

When they got to Patrick's apartment, Pete walked him up the stairs of the building and to his door. They weren't holding hands anymore, much to Patrick's dismay, but _mothers_ and _neighbors_ and _assumptions_ and _ugh_.

"This was fun," Pete said quietly, sincerely.

Patrick nodded. "It really was. I...I wasn't expecting that. I don't know what I expected, but it was not that."

Pete laughed a little. "Yeah...So, I guess I'll see you on Monday, then."

"Yeah. I'll see you then."

He kind of awkwardly shuffled to the stairs, and Patrick just stayed frozen by the door, watching Pete leave.

"Wait," he said.

Pete looked up. "What?"

Patrick bit the inside of his cheek. "Do you wanna' come inside for a little bit?"

His grin lit up the whole dim hallway. " _Yes_."

Patrick pushed the door open to find the apartment dark and silent. He held it open, allowing Pete to walk in before locking it behind them. Pete shot him a look.

"What? I don't want a break in, okay? I'm not gonna' murder you or whatever."

Pete laughed. "Don't worry, I'll protect you." He struck a heroic pose.

"Don't make me vomit; my mom’ll think I got drunk."

"Is your mom even here?"

"Sleeping, surprisingly."

Pete wiggled his eyebrows. "We’re alone, huh?"

Flushing bright red and shoving Pete, Patrick hissed, "You're so stupid, shut _up_."

"Calm down, I'm kidding!" Pete laughed, trying and failing to be quiet.

Patrick huffed and flopped down on the couch. "You should probably go home in a little bit; we can't end up sleeping at each other's places every time we hang out."

Pete sat beside him and yawned. "Yeah, whatever. It's only eleven. I'll leave at twelve."

Humming skeptically, Patrick folded his legs beneath him, trying to become as small as possible. He felt so small next to Pete.

"So, how's Elisa? Did my little Lunchbox get a girlfriend?"

Patrick snorted. "Yeah, right. I blew her off for _you_. You think she's gonna' want to see me again?"

Pete grinned and leaned his head on Patrick's shoulder, snuggling up next to him. "That was fun. We should do it again." Patrick's heart swelled, but then he heard Pete yawn again and realized it was just the exhaustion talking.

"I mean, I'd like to do it again sometime...I think that was probably the most fun I've ever had. You really...You never cease to surprise me," Patrick said quietly, but he looked down to see Pete asleep and drooling on his shoulder.

Patrick rolled his eyes but couldn't help the smile. He _told_ Pete to go home.

Whatever. He'll just wake Pete up and drive him back to his house...and...

Patrick passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed <3
> 
> Quick plug: sophie-m-leo on Tumblr


	5. Take Me High Just To Bring Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is a little off-topic, but it's important! This website has done so much for so many people and I would love to see it grow and thrive. If you are able to, please donate (the banner at the top of your screen links to the donation page). You can become a member of the OTW (Organization for Transformative Works) for $10 or more, and you can even get some cute merch for $50 or more! I swear I'm not being paid to do this, but as a creator, I would really love to see improvements made to the site.
> 
> Title from Overdose by Alessia Cara.
> 
> Peep my Tumblr at sophie-m-leo and enjoy! <3
> 
> TW//Attempted sexual assault. It doesn't go very far, but please read with caution.

"If I hear one more teacher tell me I need to 'go above and beyond' I will lose my shit," Pete declared, slamming his laptop shut and holding his head in his hands.

They had woken up on the couch in the morning, laying side by side, Patrick's legs by Pete's torso and Pete's feet practically in Patrick's face. Thank god for socks.

Pete just decided to spend the day at Patrick's apartment doing his dumb shitty homework so they could work on the project on Sunday. Patrick was happy to have another chance to hang out with Pete, but he felt like there were some unspoken conversations hanging in the air over their heads. It was terrifying. They hadn't talked about the previous night at all.

Patrick snorted. "Same."

"You know what you should do?" Pete asked, walking around to the other side of the counter to sit next to Patrick. "You should come to a soccer game sometime."

"Sure. Remind me, again, why the soccer season is in the middle of February?"

Pete grinned. "Because nobody in America cares about soccer except the people that play it."

Laughing, Patrick bumped Pete's shoulder with his own. "Bebe cared about it."

"Yeah, 'cause she wanted to check me out."

Patrick narrowed his eyes. "You sure she wasn't checking Gabe out?" he joked.

Pete pursed his lips. "No, I think that's just you."

Face burning bright red, Patrick punched Pete in the arm. "Fuck you!"

"I think you'd rather fuck Gabe."

Patrick shoved Pete and he fell out of the chair, laughing as his arm flew out to steady himself against the table. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Pete smiled like he knew something Patrick didn't. "So you'd rather fuck _me_ , then?"

Squinting, Patrick twisted his mouth into some kind of frown. "I didn't say that. But you're the one that said you'd do me if I was a girl."

Much to Patrick's surprise, Pete just looked away and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. "You remember that?"

Raising his eyebrows, Patrick half-smiled. "Uh, yeah. I remember a lot of stuff."

Pete laughed, and was it just Patrick or did he sound _nervous_? "You do have pretty great thighs though."

Patrick just shook his head, cheeks dusted pink. "You're crazy."

Sitting down again, Pete leaned noticably closer. "Do I have to aggressively compliment you again? 'Cause I will."

"You don't have to—"

"You've got, like, the most perfect face ever. Like it's pretty in a boyish way but you would still make a totally hot chick, you know? And if we're gonna' get into specifics, I really love your eyes 'cause I can't tell what color they are, like are they green or blue? I don't know. They're just pretty. Oh, and then there's your arms, and they're, like, muscle-y but not in a gross way, y'know? But the real deal, I still think it's your legs. Like, they're so, just...If I could keyboard smash in real life, that's how I'd describe 'em. And of course, we can't forget the lips, wow. 'Trick. You have the most incredible mouth I've ever seen. Total D-S-L, definitely."

Pete was leaning very close now, not really consciously, but he was scrutinizing every detail of Patrick's face. Patrick held his breath and bit his lip, and Pete made some kind of gasp of amazement.

"See! Like, that. The lip bite. That shit was hot. Like, you could get any straight girl or gay dude with that alone, I one hundred percent guarantee it."

Patrick almost died right then and there. He wondered, as Pete stared into his eyes two inches away from his face, if his own pupils were dilated. And if they were, he wondered if Pete noticed.

As he struggled to find words, Patrick somehow managed to choke out a strangled "You—" before Pete's phone began ringing.

And just like that, the heat of Pete's breaths was no longer hitting Patrick's lips. Instead, he was sitting back in his chair, phone pressed to ear. "'Sup, Dale?" A pause. "Sorry, Mom. Yeah, I'm with him. Really? I'll be there in a bit. 'Kay, see ya'."

Pete stood, shoving his phone into his pocket and grabbing his laptop. "Alright, Lunchbox, I gotta' go."

Trying to get past the fact that Pete's mom knew that they were together without having to be told, Patrick nodded. "Yeah, okay. Cool. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

Rolling his eyes, Pete pulled Patrick into a tight embrace. "Just hug me next time, okay? I know you want to." He giggled and Patrick wanted to launch himself off a cliff. A fucking _giggle_.

"Yeah...okay."

When they all got together again on Sunday, Andy and Joe left the other two boys alone while Pete continued to give Patrick random (and in his mind, totally undeserved) compliments. He did blush a lot, though, and he began to wonder when he started actually liking Pete.

And then he wondered when it was all going to go sideways.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

March came and went without a hitch, except for when Pete spent the entirety of Saint Patrick's Day following him around and praising everything he did. ("See, Patrick? You're a total Saint. They made a whole day just for you.")

It was April by the time Patrick finally felt comfortable enough with the whole soccer team to actually go to a game. Gabe was like Pete's evil twin, making the latter look like an angel in comparison. Patrick was grateful to know Pete wasn't _the_ worst human being ever, but he was actually finding himself smiling at Gabe's strange antics. Chris was kind of scary and Spencer was too cool to not be intimidating, but they all treated Patrick like he was their little brother or something. Well, except Pete, who doted on Patrick and went through random periods where he craved intimate affection that would definitely _not_ be okay between brothers. But Patrick didn't mind; it was whatever. He was fine, really.

During a game in mid-April, it was tied three to three, and they were running overtime. Patrick chewed his nails nervously, leaning forward on the edge of his seat. He watched as Gabe ran toward Parker Lewis High's goal, dribbling the ball between his feet with precision and expertise that Patrick could never have imagined. He passed the ball to Pete just as Urie from the opposing team caught up and nearly kicked Gabe's feet out from underneath him.

Pete slammed the inside of his foot against the ball as hard as he could, and it zipped right between Ross' arms as he leapt to block it.

Pete had scored the winning goal.

The crowd roared as people stood, cheering and clapping as loud as a college football stadium could have been. Pete made his way to the water cooler, so Patrick shoved past people as he sprinted down the bleachers and ran into Pete full-force, wrapping him in a tight hug. Pete laughed and hugged back, and Patrick reveled in his scent. Even though he was sweaty and gross, he was still Pete, and god Patrick _thoroughly enjoyed_ hugging him.

"You're so weird, 'Trick, Jesus Christ," Pete said, chuckling as Patrick pulled away.

Rolling his eyes, Patrick just said, "I'm proud of you, okay?"

"You sound like Bebe, oh my _god_."

"Hey, it's Patrick!" a voice called over the noise of the crowd.

Pete turned to look at the boy coming up to stand beside him. "Gabey baby, that was awesome! Whoever said Parker Lewis can't lose is a liar." The teammates high fived, and Patrick could feel himself flush under Gabe's now intense stare.

"I see you bein' all cute or whatever. You two finally get together, Patty?"

Patrick was positive that his face was scarlet red by now. "No! Why does everyone think I'm gay, Jesus _fuck_."

"Aren't you bi though? That's what—oh." Gabe looked terrified as he realized his fuck-up. "Shit, I shouldn't have...I'm just gonna'...Bye." He hurried off in the direction of his teammates, but Patrick was too busy being confused to care.

"H-How did he..?"

Pete looked guilty. "I might have...It may have slipped into conversation—"

Patrick felt himself burning up, furious. "You told _Gabe_ I'm bi?"

Pete bit his lip. "It was an accident—"

"I _trusted_ you! That was between us!"

"Patrick, please, I didn't mean to, I swear. The team doesn't care, though; they're not the—"

"The _team_? You told _all_ of them?" Patrick shook his head in disbelief. "I should take an F on this project. Don't fucking talk to me." Patrick wasn't really sure why he was making such a big deal out of this; it wasn't like Gabe was homophobic or anything. Whatever, it was a shitty move, so Patrick shoved Pete as hard as he could. It wasn't enough to make him fall, much to Patrick's dismay, so he stomped away from the field, and every part of him was screaming that he shouldn't want Pete to call his name or go after him, but he still did. He wanted Pete to follow him and beg for forgiveness, but he didn't.

Fine. Fuck him.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

The thing about Pete was that he didn't get mad. He was almost never angry. No, Pete just got sad. At least, that's what Patrick had observed from their time together. He didn't show up to school the next day, and Patrick started to wonder if it was because of him. He also noticed that Bebe wasn't there either, and Patrick began to think that maybe they were together...Break up and make up, right?

Nobody else seemed to notice, however, since the only thing people were talking about throughout the whole day was Sandman's battle with Wrexa. It had never happened during the school day, all their fights were in the afternoon or at night. But that just meant that every room had the live broadcast playing on the television. Everybody was nervous, so none of the teachers actually taught anything. They just sat and watched.

When Patrick went to lunch, the room was almost silent. Everybody was watching the broadcast on their phones, save for the few that were talking about what they think would happen if Sandman were to lose. They were speaking in hushed whispers.

Not bothering to get food, Patrick popped his earbuds in and opened the news app, pulling up the broadcast. Eventually, conversation had died down and the whole room was watching their phones in silence.

Patrick didn't know if he'd ever thought about what would happen if Sandman lost. Wrexa could destroy whole buildings with a simple touch. She couldn't manipulate living cells, sure, but she could enslave the city easily. On the other hand, Sandman could put her to sleep if he were able to get close enough, and he could conjure a whole mountain of sand. That's how they fought, actually. Sandman would lift his arm and a massive wave of black sand the size of a building would push him into the air, essentially becoming a part of him as he used all that sand as an extension of his body.

Wrexa could usually be found stomping around the city in her giant pair of robotic legs. It used to look as ridiculous as it sounds, but after a while you got used to fearing the sight. The robot had an open top so that she could reach out and touch things and even hop out if necessary. The first time she turned a building to dust was terrifying; hundreds of people fell to their deaths and dozens were crushed under desks and appliances that had been inside the building. People had learned to get out of the area as soon as she came down the street.

Right now, however, as Wrexa was reaching out to make another building burst into a flurry of yellow, Sandman was barreling toward her like a bullet. He seemed a little distracted, though. Like his mind was somewhere else entirely. So when Wrexa whipped around, he didn't have his usual reflexes and she ended up punching him square in the eye. He was yanked out of his wave, and she laughed as he plummeted to the ground.

It seemed that either he was still semi conscious or the wave had a mind of its own as it swooped down and caught him, shaking him awake. Wrexa had already begun her descent to the street, skidding down the side of the giant metal leg and breaking into a sprint as soon as one foot touched the ground. Whatever camera was filming zoomed in on her as she sped down the street, and Patrick could swear that he had seen that hair before somewhere.

Sandman just shot down the street after her, blinking hard, probably trying to rid his eye of the throbbing pain. He turned down a street, into an alley, and then—

That's when the cameras lost him.

The broadcast cut back to the anchorman, and the entire cafeteria groaned all at once. Patrick slammed his head on the table. Come on, this was fucking _important_!

For the rest of the day, the teachers were in such a bad mood that nobody wanted to teach. Nobody wanted to do anything. They all had family or friends in the city right now—fuck, it was during office hours!

English came around and Pete was still nowhere to be seen. Patrick had managed to calm himself down, however, as a lot of people were at home watching the news with their families. Pete was an avid Sandman supporter; he was probably freaked the fuck out.

Still, Patrick went to the soccer field after school. Maybe Pete would show up for practice? He never missed practice. But after two hours of feeling bummed out on the bench in the gross Spring air, Pete was nowhere to be seen. And sure, Patrick was still pissed off at him, but now he was pissed _and_ worried.

"Stumph? I've seen you around here a lot," a shouty, deep voice said.

Patrick turned. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, Coach, I don't mean to be a burden."

"Don't worry about it," Couch Lee laughed. "You can be our water boy!"

"What's that?"

"You just gotta keep track of the boys' water bottles, mix in some energy powder. Don't worry; it's not drugs. You'd have to come to all the practices and games, though, so I'd suggest you get acquainted with the team. We don't have too many left, so it shouldn't be that much of a hassle."

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "Really? That sounds fun." It really didn't, but it was an excuse to hang out with Pete more, so...

Not that he wanted to.

He went home that day half expecting Pete to be sitting in his room waiting for him. He'd excitedly explain how he'd basically be a part of the soccer team now, maybe apologize for getting mad. He probably had a reason for what he did, but then again there's never a good reason to out somebody.

Whatever, it didn't matter anyway, since Pete wasn't even there. Patrick went to sleep feeling cold and incomplete without the knowledge that Pete was one-hundred percent alive and well.

Scratch that, he didn't sleep at all.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

 _He's here_. Patrick was staring right at him, he was across the cafeteria, he was _here_. He was wearing sunglasses indoors, which could only mean one thing.

Patrick slammed his palms on the table as he sat across from Pete. The taller boy jumped and folded his arms over his chest, drawing up into his own bubble of personal space. "Peter the third. What happened to you?"

"Oh...I, um, I got punched in the face walking home from soccer. That's why I wasn't here yesterday."

"Don't you drive home?" Patrick asked.

Pete shrugged. "I needed some air."

A few seconds of silence. Patrick drew in a deep breath. "Listen, I don't think I need to apologize, alright? I think that you can agree. But, I really want you to apologize because I don't like being mad at you and I hate that I've literally already forgiven you, 'cause what you did was a shitty thing to do."

Pete bit his lip, not really in a sexy way, more just to keep himself from smiling. "You know I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. I could explain myself but I don't really think you'd want to hear it, plus it's super embarrassing. But I still really shouldn't have done it. I'm sorry."

"It's embarrassing, hm? Care to share?"

Shaking his head, Pete laughed. "Maybe another time."

Patrick was about to further inquire about this issue, but then somebody else sat next to Pete. "Dude, where were you? We missed you in Calc yesterday."

Pete grinned. "Bill, my man! I totally busted my face, wanna' see?"

"Yeah, of course!"

Whipping the sunglasses off, Pete proudly showed off his left eye. It was much worse than Patrick expected; the whole area from his temple to the bridge of his nose was purple and his eye was swollen shut, and Patrick could make out the lines where his skin had split.

"Holy shit," Patrick mumbled at the same time that Bill shouted "Fucking _cool_ , man!"

Pete nodded. "I know! I can't even see."

Patrick was about to pummel Pete with questions ( _Does it hurt? Are you alright? Do you mind if I touch it?_ ) but his train of thought was interrupted by Bill.

"How long is it gonna' take to heal?"

Pete shrugged. "I dunno'. But I think a kiss would make it better." He pouted, a mischievous smirk showing through.

Bill rolled his eyes and gently pressed his lips to Pete's temple.

"No, I mean a _real_ kiss," Pete whined.

Sighing, Bill pecked him on the cheek. "That's all I'm willing to do, okay? Go find yourself somebody else to harass. I may be gay but I sure as hell ain't into _you_."

Pete looked at Patrick, smiling sweetly. "Can _you_ give me a kiss, 'Tricky?"

Patrick knew he had to say something, but he felt like he was going to puke. He hated this jealousy building up inside of him, kind of hated Bill, and he hated that he wanted to do what Pete asked. Deciding to be a bitch instead of deal with his problems, Patrick leaned across the table.

His heart was pumping its legs like a roadrunner as Pete's wolfish smile disintegrated. Their mouths were only an inch apart, exchanging heat as sweat misted the air between them. He watched Pete with half-lidded eyes, fluttering the lashes as Pete held his breath.

Just as he was close enough to brush his nose against Pete's cheek, he whispered, "No," and flopped back down in his seat.

Bill fucking lost it. "Oh my god, Pete, you should have seen your face!" He was cackling, stomping his feet and slamming his hand on the table. "He was like _Oh my god Patrick's gonna' kiss me what do I do_!" He continued laughing as Pete scowled.

"I was _not_ , fuck off." Pete punched Bill in the shoulder, probably much harder than he had to.

"Ow!" Bill frowned. "That hurt." He rubbed his shoulder and stood up, walking off to find his nerdy friends.

Pete glared at Patrick now. "What the hell was that?"

Patrick shrugged. "Payback. Sorry for making you look gay in front of your friends."

Rolling his eyes, Pete rested his chin on his hand and frowned. "I'm single now, you can't do that shit unless you mean it."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"I mean, like, it's not like I _want_ you to mean it. I just mean, like...people are gonna' assume shit. Y'know?"

Patrick giggled. "Let them assume. It's their fault for not picking up on your raging heterosexuality."

Pete stared at the table. "Yeah, that's true. But still, I don't want Gabe to scare you away. Or, even worse, if Chris..."

"If Chris what?"

Pete shook his head. "Nothing. Doesn't matter."

Opening his mouth, Patrick began to say something, but it seemed the Universe hated him that day. The bell rung and everyone rushed to their first period class. Patrick was left staring at the empty space where Pete once sat.

He was distracted all morning, wondering if Pete wanted Patrick to kiss him or he was just being all weird because he _didn't_ want Patrick to kiss him. So after gym, he didn't realize that he was suddenly alone in the locker room.

"Hey, Patrick, is it?" a smooth but annoying voice said from behind him.

An arm was being slipped around his shoulders, and Patrick froze. "Ch-Chris?"

"Bingo." Patrick turned his head to see Chris Gutierrez grinning at him. It was nothing like Pete's, it was dirty and scary and Patrick hated it. "So, I've heard some things about you, Patrick."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "If you're here to bully me for being bisexual, please get on with it; this is boring and I have a lot to do today."

"Oh, I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, actually..."

The look in Chris' eyes was one that Patrick absolutely despised. "Why don't you fuck off?"

"Aw, come on. Just one little blowjob and then I'll do whatever you want."

"Ew, no thanks, you fucking perv. Aren't you a _straighty_?" Patrick tried to shove Chris away, but Chris just pushed him against the wall.

He flashed an angry glare. "Just suck my dick and I'll fuck you good, okay?"

Patrick was terrified at this point. "No, I don't want—"

Chris shoved Patrick down by his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Tears began to well up in his eyes as he twisted his head away. "Come on, just do it. I know you want to, you fucking fa—"

And then a loud crack, and the pressure on Patrick's shoulders was released. "Fuck off and die, you flaming pile of homophobic shit! Don't be fucking _rude_."

Blinking the tears away, Patrick stared up to see Gabe standing over Chris, who was crumpled up on the floor, nose bloody and probably broken.

Scrambling to his feet, Patrick wrapped his arms around his savior. Gabe just laughed and patted his back.

"Why would he do this to me? What the fuck?"

Gabe kicked Chris in the stomach a little bit. "He wants to piss off Pete."

"Why?" Patrick asked, furrowing his brow.

"'Cause Pete would totally pay you a billion dollars to suck his dick."

Patrick practically choked on nothing but air. "That...That's a joke, right?"

Gabe grinned. "I don't know, he never specifically _said_ that, but you know Pete. And, I'm sorry to say, mi amigo, but you've got the mouth for it."

Patrick scowled. "Do you want to shut up now? I've just been _assaulted_."

Shrugging, Gabe knelt beside Chris on the ground. "Sorry, dude. I'm not gay and I don't know if Pete's into that, but if he _is_ —"

Chris made a noise that sounded a lot like the gurgling of blood in the back of his throat. Patrick squeaked in fear as Gabe just laughed at him. "Alright, let's get you to the nurse, dude."

Gabe dragged Chris to his feet and Patrick followed them out the locker room. Patrick was about to head to the cafeteria, but he stopped. "Gabe?"

Turning around, Gabe gripped Chris' arm as it laid slung over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Just...thanks. Thank you."

"Eh, no biggie. S'what friends are for." He tugged Chris down the hall.

Patrick thought about that the whole way to lunch. _Friends_. He was friends with the popular kids now, what the fuck?

When he dropped his tray on the table next to Pete, the three boys all jumped.

"Dude, where were you?" Joe asked, worried.

"Chris tried to, like, attack me in the locker room."

Pete's eyes went wide. "What did he do?"

Patrick was shaking just thinking about it. He finally understood how hard it was for people to talk about their _encounters_. "Uh, he...he tried to make me suck him off. I wish people wouldn't automatically associate being attracted to dudes with stuff like that. Like, just because I like guys doesn't mean I want to suck every dick that comes along."

The rage was evident on Pete's face. "That motherfucker, I'm gonna' fucking _destroy_ him!"

"It's fine, Gabe took care of it."

Pete frowned. "Gabe?"

"Yeah, he totally wrecked Chris' face. It was awesome."

Slumping in his seat a little bit, Pete frowned and picked at his sandwich. "I could've done that, you know."

Andy rolled his eyes. "It's not a competition, Pete. The important thing is that Patrick's okay."

"I know, I'm just saying...," Pete mumbled.

Patrick chuckled and patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you could have taken him, Pete."

"Ya' damn fuckin' right. And I woulda' straight up _killed_ that dick bag. What a piece of shit, a hot steaming pile of it."

Smiling, Patrick just shook his head. "It's fine, Gabe dealt with it, really."

Pete grumbled something unintelligible before getting up to throw his sandwich in the garbage bin. Andy sighed and Joe just frowned.

"That guy is _weird_ ," Joe observed.

Andy laughed dryly. "Patrick has that effect on him."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Patrick asked defensively.

But then Pete sat down again and Andy didn't answer. Patrick wondered why everybody acted like they knew something he didn't, and it's not like he _didn't_ know. He knew everyone thought Pete had a thing for him. He _knew_. But he didn't see it, and it seemed like Pete was like that with literally everyone.

"We should hang out again today," Joe suggested.

"Let's go to Patrick's place. I'm in love with his mom."

Patrick punched Pete in the shoulder. "Have you ever even _spoken_ to my mom? She's literally never around when you guys are at my apartment."

"I talked to her before our date on Valentine's Day, remember?" Pete grinned and Patrick felt his face flush. "I made sure to get her blessing. I was all, 'Hey, Ms. Stumph, is it cool if I deflower your son?' She was all over it."

Patrick punched him in the arm. "Fuck you, that didn't happen. And that hardly counted as a conversation."

Pete smiled and shrugged. "If she's the one making those pumpkin squares, I will gladly marry her."

"Do you want to shut your fucking mouth now?" Patrick growled.

"You could always just marry Patrick," Joe offered quite helpfully.

Patrick wanted to die, maybe skin himself alive or throw his body into an incinerator or just end it all with the underside of a train.

Snapping his fingers, Pete smiled. "That's true! There's a lot of bonuses to that. Pumpkin squares, adopting cute little babies. I already love him so it should work out."

"Do you ever shut the fuck up? God, give me a break. You wouldn't know love if it fucking slit your throat; you just want sex, and I am not putting out for _you_. Now kindly go fuck yourself." Patrick dumped his trash in the bin and slammed his tray on top of the stack, thanking whoever was out there that he didn't have sixth period with any of those three idiots.

He spent the entirety of French class thinking about it, though, and trying to come up with a new route to Chem, because Pete had it sixth period and they always ran into each other in the hall and why couldn't he have just taken Physics?

But, unfortunately, the Chemistry lab was in the corner of the school and there was only one way to get to it. So when Patrick saw Pete and Gabe down the hall, he ducked his head and prayed they wouldn't see him.

"Patrick! Hey, what's up, my little dude?"

Inwardly cringing, Patrick forced himself to smile up at Gabe. "Hi."

"You gotta' help me and Pete settle something." Patrick stole a quick glance at Pete, who was somewhat sulking behind Gabe. "Do you think Pete coulda' taken Chris?"

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Does it matter?"

"It didn't until Pete insisted that he could punch Chris' lights out, which is total bullshit, 'cause I couldn't even do that."

"I mean, you're, like, lanky. Pete's actually got some muscle."

Gabe scoffed and Pete smiled a little. "Hey, I have muscles! I think you're just picking favorites."

"So what if I am?" That made Pete grin.

"See, Pete? I could totally take you on; Patrick's just obsessed with you."

Patrick punched Gabe in the arm and said "I am not!" at the same time that Pete said "I'm obsessed with him, too."

And then Gabe was dragging Pete down the hall to their Calculus class, and it's not like Patrick _wanted_ to make Pete feel better. He was still pissed off about the whole Pete-marrying-his-mom mess. But Gabe was letting this thing with Chris get to his head.

But then Pete wrenched himself out of Gabe's grip and made his way back to Patrick. "Wait, dude, you're not, like, mad at me, right? 'Cause I was kidding earlier. About marrying your mom. And being in love with you."

Patrick flushed at the memory. "Yeah, no, it's cool."

Pete grinned. "Awesome." And then he kissed Patrick on the cheek.

It wasn't anything extravagant or meaningful; just a simple peck. But it left Patrick blushing and his heart pounded in his chest, brain no longer functioning as it turned to mush. Pete flashed his bright smile and then he was disappearing around the corner with Gabe, nothing left of him but the wetness of his saliva against Patrick's cheek.

He wiped it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> See you next Friday <3


	6. He Can Turn On The Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Too Fast For Love by Motley Crue.
> 
> If you want to be notified when I update, follow me on Tumblr! sophie-m-leo :)
> 
> Enjoy! <3

A few more weeks passed, and pretty soon it was April twenty-sixth, the day before Patrick's birthday. It was a Saturday, so he just spent the whole day sleeping in preparation for staying up all night. Hey, he was becoming an adult. Eighteen years old! He was kind of jealous of Pete, however, who was already eighteen going on nineteen later in the Summer.  
  
("I did _not_ fail second grade, I was just so good at it that they made me do it twice," Pete had whined the first time Patrick ever had dinner at his house.  
  
Mrs. Wentz just laughed, and Patrick immediately caught on to the similarities she and Pete shared. Their loud, brash laughter. The way their eyes swirled with the things you wish you could even pretend to know. He liked Mrs. Wentz.)  
  
At some point around 7:30 P.M., Patrick had only been up for about three hours. Hey, he could really sleep in when he wanted to. It was a blessing and a curse.  
  
Naturally, he jumped when he heard a tapping at his window. "Holy sh—eesus. Holy mother of Jesus!" he whisper-shouted, squinting into the moonlight. He stomped over to the window and flung the latch open, pushing it up. "What the hell are you doing? My mom is home today! You can't just sneak in!"  
  
And there he was, crouching on the sill of Patrick's window. "Heya', 'Trickster!"  
  
Glaring at Pete, Patrick held out his hand. "Why are you at my window like some kind of cheesy rom-com?" And shit, he shouldn't have compared them to a rom-com. Shit shit shit.  
  
Pete just beamed and took Patrick's hand, letting the younger boy help him down. He dropped his feet to Patrick's floor, squeezing Patrick's hand before letting go. "I'm sleeping over," he said, throwing his bag to the floor with a _clank_.  
  
Instead of protesting, Patrick just sighed. Pete had come all the way from his house to Patrick's apartment; Patrick wasn't going to kick him out. "Fine, whatever."  
  
They ended up talking for hours, staring up at the ceiling from Patrick's mattress. It wasn't anything special, wasn't anything deep or life-altering, but Patrick quite enjoyed their little chats. He briefly thought about taking Pete's hand at one point, immediately shooting himself down. What was he _thinking_?  
  
Pete suddenly gasped and sat up, glancing at the clock that read 12:00 A.M. "Happy birthday, Patrick!"  
  
Smiling, Patrick laughed a little. "Thank you."  
  
Pete scrambled off the bed and grabbed at his bag, pulling a few things out of it. He plopped back down on the bed, just a little bit closer than before as he laid down on his side to face Patrick. "Gotcha' something." He plopped something square and flat on Patrick's stomach, and he had to pick it up to get a good look at what it was.  
  
David Bowie's _Hunky Dory_ on vinyl.  
  
Patrick's breath caught in his throat. "Pete, oh my god, I—"  
  
"Wait, wait, there's more." He pulled out an envelope and opened it to reveal a gift card for F.Y.E., along with a hand written note that Pete snatched away. "I know you don't have a record player, so there's enough on that card to get you a decent one and maybe cover half the cost of another record. I know it's not the best gift, but...yeah. You can read the note later."  
  
"Pete, what are you talking about? This is incredible, this is, this is...Wait, lemme' read the note now. Come on, give it." Pete reluctantly handed over the little slip of paper.  
  
_youre the last of your kind, trick. you make me feel like im not alone anymore. i used to spend alot of time thinking about the fragility of life and how far i could push until it breaks; now i spend all that time thinking about you. thanks buddy  
  
xoxo peterpan _  
  
Patrick could do nothing but stare up at Pete with wide eyes. The latter just scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, half-smiling a little bit. Patrick lunged forward and wrapped Pete in the tightest hug he could, managing to end up on top of him. "Thank you, thank you, oh my fucking god _thank you_ ," he whispered, one hand bunching Pete's shirt up in a fist.  
  
Pete just ran a hand through Patrick's hair, and the younger boy could see the stars in front of him. The Universe was his, gifted to him by none other than Peter Wentz. "You're welcome, Patrick, any time. Really. Any time."  
  
When they finally decided to get some rest, Patrick ended up with his chest pressed to Pete's back, arms wrapped around his torso. Pete absently ran his fingers up and down Patrick's hand, occasionally stopping to play with a digit or two.  
  
"Patrick, can you sing to me?" Pete asked quietly.  
  
Smiling softly, Patrick leaned forwards so his lips barely grazed the shell of Pete's ear. " _Des_ - _pa_ - _cito_ ," he sang, and Pete burst into a fit of laughter.  
  
"Fuck you," he choked out between the giggles, reaching back to smack Patrick on his side. He was so tired that he ended up just dropping his hand, letting it come to rest on Patrick's hip.  
  
"What, aren't you the 'meme king'?" Patrick teased.  
  
Pete was silent for a second. "I dunno', not really."  
  
On any other occasion, Patrick might have called him out on his bullshit, but Pete seemed serious. "You alright?"  
  
"I'm just thinking."  
  
"Do you wanna' talk about it?"  
  
Pete sighed, squeezing the hand Patrick had dangling over his shoulder. "Everyone thinks I'm this...'ha-ha random' guy. But I'm just not. I don't...I pretend to be all stupid and happy and shit but sometimes it's just hard to keep that up, y'know? Like, you remember the bipolar thing, right?"  
  
Of course he remembered, but Patrick didn't know what to say. He had always thought that Pete's randomness was a bit cliche, but now he realized that's because it was never real. He was playing a part. Maybe Patrick didn't know Pete as well as he thought he did...  
  
"Look, it doesn't matter, anyway. I'm real with you, and that's all that you should care about."  
  
"But I want you to be real with everybody. Not just me," Patrick said quietly, absentmindedly brushing the hand Pete had on his hip.  
  
Pete just grunted and rolled onto his stomach, causing Patrick's limbs to disentangle themselves from Pete's body. He pretended not to be disappointed. Pete was looking at him from behind that black fringe, already starting to curl up like it always did at night. His cheek was pressed into the pillow and all Patrick could see was one singular eye glittering up from his shadowy face.  
  
"No can do. You're special, 'Rickster. You're my best friend."  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "Mhm. And what about Gabe? Did you tell him all this stuff before you left him for me?"  
  
Tilting his head so his whole face was visible, Pete furrowed his eyebrows. "You thought _Gabe_ was my best friend?"  
  
"Wasn't he?" Patrick asked, confused.  
  
Pete chuckled. "Nah, he went back and forth between Chris and Spence. We got Chris kicked off the team, though, so. Probably just Spencer now."  
  
"You...You kicked him off the team?"  
  
"Yeah. We weren't just gonna' let him stay after what he did to you. It was gonna' be a whole thing where the school would have to get involved, and even if you didn't want to press charges, the administration would still hafta' give you some sort of compensation because it happened on school grounds, yadda' yadda' yadda'. But I figured you wouldn't want any of the attention, am I right?"  
  
Patrick pursed his lips and nodded.  
  
"Right, so, I told the board that if they just kick Chris off the team and make sure he stays away from us, we'd be totally cool."  
  
"And they listened to you?"  
  
"Yep," Pete said, popping the _P_. "I'm very persuasive." He wiggled his eyebrows.  
  
Patrick rolled his eyes and ignored the rush of agreement in his stomach. _You can persuade me to do anything. Just ask._  
  
"Seriously, though. We should go to sleep now. My mom...I mean, she'd probably assume that I'm with you, but she's gonna' want me home before noon."  
  
"Why would she think you're with me?" Patrick shuddered as he let a shiver run down his body. He was either really cold or really flustered, and judging by the mountain of blankets on top of him, it was not the former.  
  
Pete cracked a smile. "'Cause I'm literally always with you. Duh." He yawned. "Alright, 'night, dude."  
  
Patrick turned his eyes to the ceiling as Pete shoved his head under the pillow. He didn't fall asleep until he made sure Pete's breaths had evened out.  
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛  
  
When Patrick opened his eyes, blocks of sunlight leaked through the slats in his blinds, painting the room a comforting gold. He blinked a few times and groaned as he stretched, feeling his bones pop back into place. He was a little startled to see Pete sitting at the foot of the bed hunched over a notebook, his bag in his lap.  
  
"Morning, Patrick," he said casually, as if it wasn't weird that he had evidently been awake for a while.  
  
"Good morning," Patrick greeted cautiously. "How long did you sleep?"  
  
Pete shrugged, putting the notebook away and tossing his bag on the floor. "A few hours, I think. I don't know."  
  
Patrick frowned and sat up. "Sounds healthy," he said dryly.  
  
Determined to change the subject, Pete turned around and crawled over to Patrick across the mattress. "Hey, so, since it's your birthday I figured I could take you to F.Y.E. and we could get that record player. Some of them also come with built in CD-players and I know all the best models—" He was interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.  
  
"Oh, hold that thought. I'll be right back," Patrick said apologetically, climbing out of bed and fixing his hair as he passed the mirror.  
  
He opened the door and was greeted by the fucking police.  
  
"Hello, I'm Officer Hoppus and this is Officer DeLonge. Would you happen to know anyone by the name of Peter Wentz?" the taller man on the right said.  
  
Patrick took a moment to stare at the two men in his doorway and blink the sleep out of his eyes. "Wh—uh, yeah."  
  
"Do you mind if we ask you some questions and maybe look around inside?" Officer DeLonge asked.  
  
Patrick's stomach dropped. "Do you have a warrant?" He prayed to whoever was up there that they needed a warrant to search the apartment.  
  
Officer Hoppus frowned. "Not at the moment, but even as we speak the department is working on authorizing—"  
  
"Then no."  
  
Huffing, the officer clicked his pen impatiently. "Fine. We'll be back at three with Detective Barker and a warrant."  
  
Patrick slammed the door shut. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face as he hurried back into his room. "Pete, why were the police at my—" He stopped and stared at the empty place where Pete once sat. His eyes drifted over to the open window, sounds of horns and bustling traffic echoing through the brisk air. Patrick rushed over to it and leaned out over the sill, softly calling, "Pete?" No answer.  
  
Patrick shut the window and fell back on his bed, remembering the previous night's events. What had he been doing in the city at 7:00 P.M.? Did he seriously just come over to be the first to wish Patrick a happy birthday?  
  
Glancing at the night stand, Patrick saw a little slip of paper. He sat up and gripped it nervously in both hands, mumbling the words aloud as he read them.  
  
_hey trick im gonna be back later i just didnt want to get you in trouble  
  
pete x _  
  
The note was scribbled out so hastily that Patrick couldn't tell if the symbol at the end was an _x_ or a heart. He smiled nonetheless and stuffed the note in his pocket, blushing softly as he thought more about it. Pete was coming back later.  
  
Patrick passed the time by stuffing cereal into his mouth and rewatching Die Hard, because he's basic and not sorry at all. He kind of forgot to formulate a plan for when the police showed back up at his door.  
  
He jumped when the doorbell rang, reluctantly letting the cops and a guy called Detective Barker and their stupid warrant into his apartment and onto his couch.  
  
"What are you even doing here?" Patrick huffed, taking the loveseat across from the couch.  
  
Officer DeLonge just asked, "So you know Peter Wentz?"  
  
"Why do you want to know?"  
  
"We believe Peter was involved in a rather... _serious_ crime."  
  
"What do you think he did?"  
  
Officer DeLonge sighed. "That is information I am not able to disclose to you at this time."  
  
"Then why are you here? To see if he did the thing that nobody has proof he did? He's just a mixed race kid in a black hoodie; does that make him a criminal?"  
  
"That's not—" Officer Hoppus began, but Detective Barker cut him off.  
  
"Mr. Stump, can you please just answer a few questions? It's easier that way for everyone."  
  
Patrick just sighed. "Listen, I don't know what you want with me. Pete and I, we're not really, like, close. Anybody could tell you that."  
  
Detective Barker and Officer DeLonge exchanged some kind of glance. Patrick couldn't place it. "Alright, then can you describe your relationship with Peter Wentz?" the detective asked, pen hovering over a notepad.  
  
Patrick swallowed. He didn't know how to answer, and as far as he knew he had three options: a lie ( _we barely know each other_ ), the safe truth ( _we're friends_ ), or the full truth ( _he's my best friend; he hides out here a lot and sometimes he stays the night_ ). Patrick went with: "I don't know, we're friends, I guess."  
  
Barker scribbled that down. "Is that all? You 'guess' you're friends?"  
  
Swallowing nervously, Patrick nodded.  
  
"Do you ever hang out on the weekends or outside of school?"  
  
He knew he was going to sound weird if he said yes, as then it would seem suspicious that he didn't know if they were friends. But he figured they already knew the answer to this question. "Yes."  
  
"How often?"  
  
Patrick shrugged. "I don't know."  
  
"Once a month, every week? Every day?"  
  
Biting his lip, Patrick shifted uncomfortably. "Probably a couple times a week."  
  
Barker looked up at him. "And you don't know if you're friends?"  
  
He stared at the floor. "I mean, I guess we are. I think."  
  
"You think."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Skeptical, Barker just wrote down some more notes. "Okay, well, has he ever mentioned anything about vandalizing public property?"  
  
Genuinely surprised, Patrick shook his head.  
  
"Please state 'yes' or 'no' for the record."  
  
"No."  
  
"Arson?"  
  
" _No_."  
  
Barker wrote that down. "Have you seen him attempt to hurt another?"  
  
Patrick's eyes went wide. "No."  
  
"Has Peter Wentz ever attempted to hurt you?"  
  
"No!"  
  
DeLonge pulled out his phone and showed Patrick a picture. It was the wall of a building in the city, impossible to tell which one, with a huge image of Sandman's classic grin spray painted onto the side. In big, black letters across the top read the words: _Off to Never Never Land._ "Does this look like something he would have done?"  
  
Patrick stared at the image for a little bit, reading the words over and over and over again. "No." He glared up at Hoppus accusingly. "I don't get why two officers and a detective were assigned to this stupid case of vandalism. How bored _are_ you guys down at the station? Is everybody else too busy arresting black kids for wearing their pants too low?"  
  
Neither the officers nor the detective reacted. "Do the words mean anything to you?"  
  
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "I mean, yeah. They're Metallica lyrics. Didn't you ever think to look that up?"  
  
"What song?" Barker asked, ignoring his question.  
  
"Enter Sandman."  
  
Barker tapped his chin with the pen. "Do you listen to Metallica, Patrick?"  
  
He shrugged. "Kind of."  
  
"How did you stumble across them? Was it your dad? Mom? Siblings?"  
  
Patrick didn't say anything, letting the whole 'dad' comment slide. He was caught in an inward battle. Was he supposed to tell the truth? He knew Pete would never do something like that, but then again, he also knew that Pete was unpredictable. "I-I...From Pete."  
  
Barker's eyes shined. "Do you know where Pete was on the evening of Saturday, April twenty-sixth?"  
  
Patrick had to stop himself from smiling. Pete had an alibi. "Yes."  
  
After a few seconds, Barker said, "Okay, could...could you maybe tell us?"  
  
This is where he began to freak out. He was going to sound like such an idiot. "He...He was here."  
  
"Pete was here last night?"  
  
Patrick swallowed. "Yeah."  
  
"Do you know where he is now?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why was he here?"  
  
"It's my birthday."  
  
"Were you having a party?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Did you invite him over?"  
  
"No."  
  
"He came of his own accord?"  
  
"Yes." Patrick was getting tired of this. He just wanted the police to go away, he just wanted Pete to come back and he just wanted it to stop.  
  
"Did he tell you anything about where he was going?"  
  
Patrick sniffed. "No."  
  
"At what time did he leave?"  
  
"This morning."  
  
"He stayed the night?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And you said you 'guess' you guys are friends?"  
  
"Oh my god, okay, fine! Pete and I are best friends, okay? We hang out, like, every day, and he always has dinner here and he brought me a birthday present even though I don't have enough friends to throw a party and he's really awesome and really sweet and really considerate and he would never do something like that, okay? Now why don't you tell me why three cops are dead set on convicting a teenage boy of such a dumb crime?"  
  
DeLonge crossed his arms. "That is also classified information."  
  
Patrick just stared at him. "You people are insane. Why can't you tell me why my best friend is being accused of vandalism? Do you have evidence?"  
  
"Several eyewitness accounts, DNA found on the scene, and a pretty set-in-stone timeline. It makes sense."  
  
Oh. "If he was here, how could he have done it?"  
  
"Approximately what time would you say he showed up at your apartment, Patrick?" Barker asked.  
  
"I don't know, like, half past seven."  
  
DeLonge smiled. "Peter was said to have arrived on the scene at seven-oh-two. A few residents of the building said he left at about seven twenty-one, climbed up the fire escape, and someone on the fifth floor let him in through the window. Does any of this sound familiar to you?"  
  
Patrick swallowed. So the graffiti was on _his_ building. Oh.  
  
"Every single witness that saw where he went directed us to your apartment," DeLonge continued. "So, Patrick, would you like to tell us the story again?"  
  
Patrick felt sick. "I didn't know...All I knew was that he wanted to see me and he brought me a David Bowie record and he had a bag but I just figured they were extra clothes. He did climb in through my window, but I didn't know he would...," he trailed off. "He was still here, when you guys showed up. When I went back to check on him, he was gone."  
  
"Did he say anything to you about leaving?" Barker asked, furiously scribbling down more information on his little pad of paper.  
  
"No, he just left a note."  
  
"May we see this note?"  
  
Patrick wanted to say no; that was a private note. But he didn't want to get either of them into even more trouble. So he reached into his pocket and handed over the crumpled-up paper.  
  
Officer Hoppus looked up at Patrick, having read the note faster than the others. "He said he's coming back."  
  
"He says that all the time."  
  
Detective Barker copied the words down onto his notebook. "Is it okay if we keep this?"  
  
Patrick was hesitant. "Well, um, if you have to...But, can you like, make a copy? I kinda' want to keep the original."  
  
Officer DeLonge raised an eyebrow. "That's a heart." So it wasn't just an _x_. "You said guys are just friends?"  
  
"Well, I-I...I think so," Patrick stuttered, face flushing scarlet.  
  
"You know it's important that we get as much detail as possible from you, correct?"  
  
Patrick frowned. "Yes, I know."  
  
"And we must have an accurate account of each witness and their relationship to the suspect."  
  
"I know."  
  
"So we will ask you again: what is your relationship to Peter Wentz?"  
  
Patrick gulped. "We're friends. Right now."  
  
"'Right now'?"  
  
"I'll just say that...it's subject to change in the future. Possibly. I don't know how he..." Patrick cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, this is weird."  
  
Barker nodded. "It's okay, we understand."  
  
Patrick was silent for a moment. "You...You said that you couldn't tell me what you think he did. Do you, like, think he did something else? Besides this?"  
  
Officer DeLonge frowned. "Listen, kid, we would really like to tell you so that you know what to be on the lookout for, but we just can't. I'm sorry."  
  
"Can you at least explain why you care so much?"  
  
The three men looked at each other, making a silent decision. Officer Hoppus cleared his throat. "We have reason to believe that he's done some other things. Having proof that he did this allows us to conduct a full investigation. There's not enough of a solid foundation to look into the other stuff."  
  
Patrick frowned. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense. But hanging out with him isn't, like, dangerous, right?"  
  
"Depends who you ask," Officer DeLonge said, snorting.  
  
Detective Barker elbowed him hard in the ribs. "No," he said, attention returning to Patrick. "Not unless _you're_ dangerous."  
  
"Do I look dangerous to you?"

Officer Hoppus shook his head. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Stumph. This has been very helpful."  
  
When they left, Patrick immediately pulled out his phone. "Peter," he hissed into the receiver, "call me." He left six messages of the same nature.  
  
Night fell hours later, and when Patrick's mom got home, they mostly ignored each other. He knew better than to pester her when she was making her Lean Cuisine, and she knew he would have nothing to talk about. She went to her room for the night, so Patrick stayed in the kitchenette until a little past midnight. He called Joe and asked how he and Andy's part of the project was coming along. He said they had finished a week ago. Patrick felt bad for slacking.  
  
Sighing, Patrick decided to get some sleep. Tomorrow was Monday and Pete was already going to be mad at him for not doing the English homework, so he figured he should at least show up to class. His hand shook with exhaustion as he twisted the doorknob.  
  
Patrick froze in the doorway.  
  
The shadow in the corner of the room was undulating like a rip in the fabric of space, and then, slowly, that rippling became more of a falling motion. Patrick watched as the shadow seemed to solidify into millions of pieces, tiny grains of black sand sliding down over each other until it was nothing but a puddle scattered across the floor. Patrick tore his eyes away as the sand slipped under his bed and into the sides of the room, melting back into the shadows.  
  
The Sandman was standing in the corner.  
  
Patrick almost screamed, he came so fucking close to just screeching and fainting right there, but something stopped him. A sort of calmness washed over the room, bathing every piece of furniture and every part of Patrick's body.  
  
Sandman gave him a little wave.  
  
"You...I...Oh my god," was all Patrick could bring himself to say.  
  
The hero turned his head just a bit, motioning to the long gash running down the side of his face. As he did so, his dark eyes came to rest on the poster of himself. Flustered, Patrick began to spit out excuses. "Oh, that, um, I just really liked the photography. It has great lighting, don't you think? And I just—"  
  
He stopped himself when he saw Sandman's massive grin, the one with actual teeth and not just painted onto his face. The Sandman just waved him closer, stepping out of the shadow a bit.  
  
Patrick's heart stopped.  
  
Now, it was one thing to see him on TV and a poster every day, but seeing him in person? The first thing Patrick thought was _Wow, he really is hot_. The second was the brief flash of a memory... _You kind of look like—_  
  
Patrick's jaw fell open and he just blinked, completely speechless.  
  
Sandman gave a nervous chuckle. "Hey." His voice was tritonal, one deep and distorted, another high and fractured. But the third and most prominent, that was a voice that Patrick would recognize anywhere.  
  
" _Pete_?"  
  
He smiled anxiously and nodded. "What's up, 'Trickster?"  
  
Patrick felt like he was about to throw up. "You...You're...What the _fuck_?"  
  
"Listen, you can say whatever you want later, but I have a little issue that I would much rather deal with first," Sandman— _Pete_ said, motioning to the gash again.  
  
Shaking his dizzy head clear, Patrick felt his focus narrow, zeroing in on everything he knew about caring for wounds. Leading Pete to the bathroom across the hall, Patrick shut the door behind them and instructed the costumed man to sit up on the sink.  
  
"This is a pretty serious injury," Pete observed, "do I need to take my clothes off?"  
  
It took a second for Patrick to realize what he was implying. He glared up at his best friend slash personal hero. "Dear god, are you even _more_ insufferable like this?"  
  
"Pretty much." Patrick still found himself caught off guard by the splitting octaves of Pete's voice.

Patrick huffed. "Your eye was _just_ starting to heal, you idiot."

Pete just grinned.

Patrick didn't waste time after that, getting straight to work with cleaning and dressing the wound. It was neither easy nor pretty, as a lot of blood was running down the side of Pete's face and it was getting all over Patrick's hands and he kept thinking about how unreal all of this was. There's no way that Pete Wentz, of all people, was the Sandman. No way.  
  
When Patrick was done, Pete hopped off the sink and turned around to examine himself in the mirror. He had taken off his black eyemask, and now Patrick could see just how big of a difference that little mask made. Pete went from unrecognizable to completely obvious in the short second it took to peel off the black fabric.   
  
"I'm sure you have a million questions." Pete turned and looked at Patrick again. "But I'm super fucking exhausted. Can we lay down first?"  
  
"What, are you sleeping here again? On a Sunday?" Patrick asked jokingly.  
  
Pete just gave him that fond smirk. "Yep. Sorry, man. No school for us tomorrow."  
  
Patrick left the bathroom to change into pajamas, grab some clothes for Pete and have a panic attack. It was a nice couple of things to have happen all at once, clutching clothes close to his chest while the walls fell inward. He kept picturing the shadows leaking through his room unnaturally, the way that he suddenly realized the sand wasn't sand at all, never was. It's like everything leaned in and held its breath when Sandman was in the room, just like Pete. Patrick wondered how he hadn't seen this before.  
  
As Patrick laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, he finally understood how blind he had been. All those times when Pete would bail on them, that one day he wasn't at school and showed up the next with a black eye, the way everyone seemed drawn to him like he was some kind of magnificent celestial being.  
  
The bathroom door opened and Patrick almost choked. Pete emerged wearing Patrick's sweatpants and Patrick's Michael Jackson tee shirt and that giant Sandman grin was gone. But Pete in Patrick's clothes; now that was a sight to behold.  
  
Pete climbed into the bed beside Patrick. "Okay, you can yell at me now."  
  
"What the actual living fuck, Pete? What the hell are you thinking? Going around and putting yourself in danger, holy fuck. You can't expect me to be cool with this, or your parents. Oh god, do your parents know?"  
  
Pete laughed. "They know; it's cool. But aw, you're worried about me. That's cute."  
  
Patrick let the comment slide. "Seriously, you're Sandman. You're the Sandman. I don't even know what I'm supposed to—people say it both ways, right?" he rambled. "Y'know, like 'the' or no 'the'. It's awkward."  
  
"I'm like Batman. Nobody knows if it's 'the Batman' or just...Batman. But I'll take it either way."  
  
"Don't compare yourself to Batman."  
  
Pete grinned. "You're right; I'm better than Batman. I have powers."  
  
"Yeah, how does that even work? How did you get those? And what is that stuff that always follows you around? 'Cause I don't think it's actually sand."  
  
"It's not; it's shadow dust."  
  
"But what is that? Just explain the whole thing to me."  
  
Pete giggled. Jesus, it was cute. "So, I was born like this. I'm something called a shadowbender. It's a weird family thing on my dad's side. My brother and sister are just regular people 'cause it's not genetically possible for my dad to pass the trait itself down more than once, but, I think it's like, in their blood? So their kids could have it? I don't know, it's weird.  
  
"Anyway, I can, like, move shadows and stuff. Have you ever watched a broadcast of one of my fights? You can see it if you look close. All the 'sand' and shit is coming from behind buildings and alleys 'cause that's where the darkness is. I can also phase through shadows, too, which is how I got through your window. I, like, fuse into them and come out the other side.  
  
"The whole thing about putting people to sleep is kind of a side effect of the shadow bending. Like, I'm casting a shadow over your brain and suddenly you're out like a light. But another plus is the rad costume thingy! I don't even have to put it on, it kinda' just...happens. And when I'm done it melts back into the shadows and I'm in my street clothes again."  
  
Patrick, completely baffled, chose to say this: "So why'd you need my clothes?"  
  
Pete grinned. "I don't. I just like wearing 'em."  
  
Rolling his eyes, Patrick nodded. "I can't believe you tricked me into calling you hot," he mumbled, glancing at the poster on his wall.  
  
"I can't believe it worked," Pete teased, lying on his side to face Patrick.  
  
"Fuck off."  
  
A few moments of silence passed before Pete yawned. "I'm exhausted; we should get some rest."  
  
"Really? Are you sure you're done educating me to death?" Patrick joked.  
  
"Well, here's something else you might find educational: I've recently come to the realization that I am not actually straight."  
  
Patrick choked on nothing but air. "Y-You what?" A revelation of this magnitude wasn't typically something you just blurt out in the middle of a conversation about _another_ life-changing revelation.  
  
Pete shrugged, snuggling closer to Patrick. "I think I'm, like, bi or pan or something."  
  
"And h-how did you reach this conclusion?"  
  
Pete yawned again, closing his eyes and resting his head on Patrick's chest. "I just know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	7. Shadows Still Remain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from November Rain by Guns 'N Roses.
> 
> I'm excited for this one. Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> P.S. Bleed Magic!!!

Joe slammed his lunch tray down next to Andy. "Patrick, I met this girl."  
  
"Sweet," he said, jumping a little at the sudden noise. "What's her name?"   
  
It had only been two days since the whole Sandman thing, but Patrick was worried again. He had woken up to an empty room, no note, no bag, no evidence of any kind to show that the whole thing hadn't been anything more than a fever dream except for the memory burned into Patrick's brain. He was certain that it had happened, without even a shadow of a doubt. Ha. _Shadow_.   
  
Anyway, Pete didn't show up at school on Monday or Tuesday, and by Wednesday Patrick was missing him like crazy. No fights were going down in the city, though, so it couldn't be that...   
  
"Anna. She's really pretty and super nice and she's cool," Joe said, pulling Patrick back to reality.   
  
Patrick nodded. "I'm sure she is. Let me know how it goes," he said, disinterested.   
  
"I'm trying to set you up, you ding-dong!"   
  
Patrick froze, eyes going wide as he ignored the 'ding-dong' thing. "Oh, um, the thing about that is...I'm not really looking for a girl at the moment."   
  
Joe's face went white. "Oh. Are you...Oh my god, you're gay, aren't you? I'm so sorry, I didn't realize, you said you—Well, there's this guy I know, his name's Bill. He's really nice and he's gay too and—"   
  
"Joe."   
  
"—he'd totally be into you, 'cause, like, I know that not all gay dudes—"   
  
Patrick sighed. "Joe."   
  
"—are into each other," he continued, waving his hands around, "but he's really nice and I think you'd like him—"   
  
"Joe!"   
  
The brunette stopped talking, face flushed a proper red.   
  
"I'm not gay, I'm bisexual. And I already like somebody."   
  
Andy just took another bite of his Aloha bar, completely unfazed. "Joe, you are so dumb sometimes."   
  
Joe frowned. "Shut up." He turned back to Patrick. "Girl or boy? Do we know them? What do they look like? Can we have a hint?"   
  
Laughing, Patrick looked at the empty seat next to him. It suddenly hit him that he had never admitted this out loud, or even to himself. Every time a similar thought surfaced, he'd shove it down and pretend nothing was wrong. He was surprised to discover that this realization wasn't exactly life-altering, though. It just felt naturally _different_ , like looking at yourself in the mirror and saying 'I have a face.'   
  
"Okay, okay, I'll give you a hint. He's kind of...missing." The mood significantly shifted at the comment.   
  
"Oh. Oh god, Patrick. That's. That sucks." They sat in uncomfortable silence for a second.   
  
Andy spoke up. "You know, I'm sorry, but Pete's not..." Patrick smiled a bit, thinking back to the last conversation they had.   
  
"Wait, why are you smiling? Andy, he's smiling! Do you _know_ something?"   
  
Giggling, Patrick blushed. "Okay, nothing's really happened between us except a few signs here and there. But he did tell me a few _things_..."   
  
Joe grinned, saying, "Well, you have a chance, right?"   
  
"God, I hope I do."   
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
That night, Patrick laid awake thinking about the events at lunch. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice tapping on his window. Bolting upright, he scrambled over to the window and flung it open, the cool night air hitting his skin before he could process what he was seeing. The moonlight shined down on the terrace, revealing the brilliant form of none other than Pete Wentz.   
  
Pete stared at him for a moment, almost as if he couldn't believe Patrick actually existed. Patrick rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming.   
  
"Can I come in?" Pete asked softly.   
  
Patrick nodded and closed the window behind Pete as he hopped down to the floor.   
  
"So, you're looking—"   
  
Patrick cut him off by wrapping him in a tight hug, practically throwing himself at Pete. "I was so worried. I didn't know what happened to you. You didn't come back and then I didn't see you on the news and I thought she had gotten you and I've missed you so much and I'm so happy you're back."   
  
Pete laughed that intoxicating laugh and ran his hands through Patrick's hair. "I've missed you so much, 'Trick. You have no idea."   
  
"I have _some_ idea," Patrick mumbled against Pete's collarbone, earning a soft chuckle. "Where were you?"   
  
Silent for a second, Pete seemed to be considering something. "I had to make sure it would work."   
  
"What would work?"   
  
Pete grinned and took Patrick's hand, tugging him to the window. "I wanna' show you something."   
  
Patrick frowned. "Can it wait? I have school tomorrow and—"   
  
"Shut up and stop being such a pansy. Come on, please?"   
  
Patrick couldn't argue with those pleading eyes, so he followed Pete out the window and left it open a tiny bit so he could get back inside. They stood on the terrace as Patrick gazed up at the moon for a moment, bewildered by its beauty. He looked at Pete and Pete was beaming at him. "What?" he asked, laughing.   
  
Pete shook his head. "You're just _really_ weird. Let's go."   
  
Pete led him down the stairs and through mazes of streets until they came upon an alleyway on the outskirts of town. "Are you planning on murdering me?"   
  
"Yep."   
  
"Not funny." Patrick followed him into the alleyway and over to a suspiciously strange-looking door. It was bronze, but in the moonlight it looked like it was glowing. When he turned around to ask Pete where they were, he felt two fingers press against his forehead. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Pete's apologetic gaze.   
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
Patrick didn't think you dreamed when you were knocked unconscious, but he supposed Sandman just put people to sleep, not really knocking them out. He dreamed of Pete's lips pressed against his and friction in his jeans and inked golden skin against paper pale. He hoped that Sandman couldn't see people's dreams.   
  
Waking up was a nightmare. He had an awful headache and it felt like he didn't even open his eyes. It was still pitch dark. "Where—Pete?"   
  
"I'm here. I got you."   
  
Patrick looked around to figure out where he was, but all he saw was darkness.   
  
"It's okay, we're in your room." The voice was coming from beside him, so he was able to determine that both he and Pete were laying on his bed. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, it began to make much more sense. He was back in his apartment, the window closed as if nothing had happened.   
  
"Pete—" he groaned, headache raging on.   
  
"Sh, just go to sleep." A pair of fingers against his lips, and then he was being pulled into Pete's chest.   
  
Patrick wriggled around in protest. "Are you gonna' try to spoon me? No way, no thanks."   
  
"Patrick," Pete whispered into his ear, sending a jolt down his spine, "just sleep."   
  
Closing his eyes, Patrick gulped. "Okay." He tried to get a little comfortable, but it was difficult with Pete's arms wrapped around his waist and holding him so close. Patrick just sighed and felt around for Pete's hand, tracing the bones when he found it. Pete twisted his hand around and laced their fingers together, a gesture that Patrick was certainly not expecting.   
  
"Goodnight, my beautiful little cabbage."   
  
The last thing Patrick mumbled before exhaustion overtook him was, "I'm not your little _anything_."   
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
Light streamed in through his window. He rolled over, groaning and covering his eyes. Patrick wanted to die, he just needed darkness and silence, he craved the end of it all.   
  
But then it stopped. His headache was just gone.   
  
"P-Pete..?" His eyes fluttered open.   
  
"Somebody confessed," Pete said quietly.   
  
Patrick just blinked and sat up. "Someone what?"   
  
"Chris Gutierrez. He confessed to the graffiti thing." He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at his phone.   
  
Grabbing his glasses off the nightstand, Patrick blinked again. "That asshole? Why?"   
  
Pete bit his lip and looked away. "I don't know. How are you feeling?"   
  
"I...I had a headache, but. It's gone. So you didn't do it?"   
  
"No, I did. I just can't let the police know that. They want to _investigate_ me, Patrick. They want to take Sandman down. But I'm happy your headache is gone; it means you're ready for step two of my plan."   
  
Patrick felt dazed. "Step two..? I'm not following."   
  
Pete chuckled, rolling off the bed and springing to his feet. "Explain the process of endocytosis."   
  
"What are you—" Patrick suddenly felt every muscle and joint in his arms tense up. "Endocytosis is a type of bulk transport within the cell. It is the movement of materials from outside the cell to inside the cell and requires ATP energy. The first step in the process is the slight inward curvature of the cell membrane as it begins to surround the material—"   
  
Pete cut him off. "Yes! Do you get it now?"   
  
Patrick blinked. "N-No..? Freshman biology doesn't—"   
  
"Look, come here," Pete said, holding out his hand. Patrick took it cautiously and let Pete lead him to the bathroom, shoving him in front of the mirror and pointing to his face. "See?"   
  
A slice in his skin, about one inch long, ran vertically along his temple. He had to push his hair back to get a good look at it, poke at the staples and tap the redness to find he felt nothing against the nerves. "What...What happened to me?"   
  
"I activated your powers, dude."   
  
Patrick flinched and turned around. "You what?" he squeaked.   
  
Pete rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That's where I took you last night. I know this guy, John Miller, he does activations. He did mine."   
  
"He, I—what?"   
  
"You know. Like, the thing that makes people like us...turn it on. In the least sexual way possible." His face was slowly growing less amused and more worried.   
  
Patrick blanched. "'People like us'? Pete, I'm not _like_ you."   
  
Pete's eyes were wide and frantic as he ran his hands through his hair. "You don't know. God, you don't know. I shouldn't have...I— _shit_."   
  
"Pete, what? What don't I know? What are you talking about?" Patrick was freaking out. His mind was swirling with any fact he could grasp onto that had something even slightly resembling relevance. _The widening of the eyes and quickening of the pulse signals fear_ (duh), _nervous tics such as nail-biting or running a hand through one's hair typically develop in males more than females and are especially prevalent within insomniacs_ (yeah, okay, whatever, next)...   
  
_Humans respond positively to physical contact when stressed, regardless of personality and natural reactions._  
  
Patrick reached out and grabbed Pete's arm, subtly moving his thumb in circles against his skin. "Calm down, okay? Just explain to me what exactly you did."   
  
Pete lowered his arm and sheepishly looked Patrick in the eyes as he said, "You have apodeixiflecte."   
  
Patrick blinked. "I have apple-dicey- _what_?"   
  
"Apodeixiflecte," Pete repeated. "It's, like, hyper-intelligence."   
  
Shaking his head, Patrick blinked again. "There are so many things wrong with that word."   
  
"Tell me about them," Pete said quite seriously.   
  
So Patrick did. "Well, for starters, it doesn't exist. And second, its roots are from two completely different languages. Who makes a word with both Greek and Latin roots? That's fucking psychotic."   
  
Pete laughed. "See? I told you."   
  
Patrick tilted his head. "Wait, was that the hyper-intelligence thing?"   
  
"Yep."   
  
"Wait, hold on a second." Patrick began pacing across the bathroom. "You gave me this thing?"   
  
Pete twisted his mouth into a thoughtful frown. "No, it's, like...You've always had it. It's just that now—"   
  
"It's only just now showing? Why?"   
  
"Yeah, well, I'm getting to that," Pete said, a bit irritated. "There's this kind of block, you know? So it'll block you just enough to be exceptional but not suspicious. Why do you think you're always second to Iero?"   
  
Patrick scowled. "So does he have... _this_ too?"   
  
Pete winced, probably wishing Patrick would call this thing by its name. "No, he just happens to be the smartest _regular_ dude. We're the only ones in this city, well, besides. You know."   
  
"Wrexa?"   
  
Pete nodded. "Or Bebe, if you'd rather keep it simple."   
  
Patrick's eyes went wide. "Bebe?"   
  
Chuckling, Pete rolled his eyes. "Have you seriously never thought about it? I mean, who makes their supervillain name their surname?"   
  
Patrick felt like an idiot. Some hyper-intelligence he had. "Is that why you guys broke up?" he asked, dumbfounded.   
  
"Nah, I knew the whole time. That's why I dated her, you know? Try and turn her to the light side. But eventually I had to come to terms with the fact that it wouldn't work. Plus, she was getting distant. I don't think she knew about me, but I could tell she had her suspicions. Whatever, I mean, she just isn't really my type. I like blondes," Pete said, smirking playfully and ruffling Patrick's hair.   
  
Blushing, Patrick rolled his eyes to hide his annoyingly hopeful smile. "Shut the _fuck_ up." But then he got serious again. "So, like, how do I have it? Apo-whatever."   
  
"Relative, I think," Pete said. "I don't know exactly how apodeixiflecte works but I know that's how it is for me. The technical term for mine is afimortis, which means touch of death, in case you were wondering," Pete said with a grin. Patrick gave an unimpressed grunt, urging Pete to go on. "Yeah, so, anyway. Your mom got it, you think? Aunts, uncles? Do you think your..?" He trailed off, twisting his mouth into a guilty frown.   
  
Patrick snorted. "My dad? Yeah, you don't have to dance around the subject. He's dead. I'm over it." But as he said it, his voice broke, and Pete just shook his head. At least he didn't seen pitying. Patrick hated being pitied.   
  
"Sorry, dude. I'll try to be _less_ sensitive next time. But your dad could have had it, which explains why he, you know."   
  
"Yeah." He thought for a moment. "So, does my mom know about all this?"   
  
Pete grimaced. "Well, that's where it gets complicated. I know she, like, knows. About us. I mean, not like us, like we're a, um. I just mean she knows you have a thing and I have this thing and she knows we've been skipping school together. Why do you think you never get in trouble for that?"   
  
Patrick nodded thoughtfully. "So what makes it complicated?"   
  
"I don't think she wanted you to know," Pete said, staring at the ground. "And I just activated you without her permission."   
  
"You don't need my mom's permission to turn me on," Patrick said, and it was a joke and he was _laughing_ , but his face heated up nonetheless.   
  
Pete grinned and met his eyes again, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Shut up."   
  
Patrick laughed. "Seriously, though, it's totally cool. I mean, I'm shocked, but I'm glad you told me."   
  
"Yeah, well. Um, I should probably get going. My mom told me I have to stop sleeping at your place, but...I can't sleep unless you're there. Is that weird? Sorry, that's weird. I shouldn't have—sorry."   
  
Patrick smiled. "No, it's fine. I think you give me good dreams."   
  
Pete laughed. "Yeah, I have that effect on people. Wish I could see them."   
  
"Don't. They're good in, like, a weird way." 

Wiggling his eyebrows, Pete said, "What, they're sex dreams or something?"   
  
"No!" Patrick shouted, face turning red. "I hate you."   
  
"Love you too," Pete said, opening the window before kissing Patrick on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, baby."   
  
Patrick's heart stuttered. "Fuck off," was the last thing he said before closing the window behind Pete.   
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
Patrick groaned as he realized he hadn't done the laundry in two weeks. There was nothing to wear, except...   
  
Digging through the back of his closet, Patrick pulled out a black sweatshirt. He sniffed it just to be sure it wasn't disgusting—definitely not because he wanted to make sure some of Pete's scent was still lingering. He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and sighed, yanking on last week's black jeans.   
  
When he got to school, Patrick felt the eyes on him. It wasn't like everyone was staring at him and whispering to their friends about how _Patrick's wearing Pete's sweatshirt!_ It was more like a few people's gazes would linger on him and shift to _Wentz_ on the back of the shirt as he walked by, and those few people were guys on the soccer team and girls Patrick had seen in the background of party pics on Pete's Instagram. Not that he stalked Pete's Instagram.

He didn't see Pete in the cafeteria that morning, and it was strange that he wanted to even more than usual. It was like he wanted Pete to see him wearing the sweatshirt he hadn't asked Patrick to give back yet. He wanted Pete to know that Patrick was completely and exclusively  _his_.

Shooting Pete a quick  _Where are you?_ text, Patrick skipped the cafeteria and went straight to class. He received a reply not too long after.

_Loser Wentz: mking up a test sorry_

_Loser Wentz: u miss me?_

Patrick rolled his eyes.  _Nope._

Later, during a passing period, Patrick flinched when he heard his name being yelled in the stairwell. Suddenly, he saw a blur of black leap over the rail, landing hard on the floor and stumbling into Patrick. The breath was knocked out of him as he was shoved against the wall, suddenly staring into dark brown eyes, one arm thrown across Patrick's chest and pinning him in place.   
  
"Patrick, hey!" Pete said brightly. "I missed you."  
  
Laughing, Patrick gently patted Pete's arm. "Missed you too."  
  
They stood there for a few seconds, several people greeting Pete in passing. Pete just said "Hi" over his shoulder and didn't move. Patrick suddenly realized what this must look like, Pete Wentz trapping him against a wall while he's wearing Pete's sweatshirt and talking about how they missed each other.   
  
"Um. Did you need something?"  
  
"No, I just," Pete pulled back and stared at Patrick's sweatshirt, "wanted to see you." He bit his lip and flicked his gaze back up to Patrick's eyes. "Love you."  
  
"Love you too," Patrick squeaked, and Pete planted another kiss on his cheek. He took off down the hall.  
  
Patrick closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, heart pounding in his chest. Everyone in the stairwell totally just saw that, and now everybody was going to talk about them even more than they already were.  
  
Somehow, Patrick couldn't bring himself to care.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

Patrick was sprawled out on his bed later that evening, waiting for his mom to be finished making dinner. Pete was staring at the poster on the wall and Patrick wondered why he hadn't taken it down yet, figuring that it was pretty creepy to Pete.

Suddenly, the most amazing idea in the history of ever popped into Patrick's head. He sat up. "Can you change?"

Pete blinked, whirling around to face the bed. "What?"

"I want to see it. You know.  _You._ "

Pete breathed in heavily like he was inhaling Patrick's words, rolled them around in the cavity where his brain should have been before spitting them out on a sharp exhale. "Fine."

The room dimmed and shadows began to pour out from his closet and behind the desk and under the bed. Patrick watched in awe as the edges of his vision darkened, dizzying his brain a little bit before everything was zapped back into focus. The room was still dark, the lights dimmed to the point at which they were basically useless. Patrick caught his breath.

"Happy?" three voices asked.

Patrick motioned for him to come closer, so Pete— _the_ _Sandman_ —huffed and stepped forward, out of the mass of molasses-like substance and stood in front of Patrick, arms crossed, one hip thrown out. Patrick would have laughed at his friend's sassy disposition if this were any other day.

Patrick ran his fingers over the cool metal spokes jutting out over Pete's hips, traced the patterns on that wicked cape, stared at his mouth and wished he could touch it. Wished he could press his own mouth against it. 

"Where does that come from?" Patrick asked, gesturing to the seemingly painted grin.

Pete shrugged. "The shadows."

Patrick stared up at him, one hand coming to rest on Pete's hip. Pete's eyes were dark, hair messily falling over them, eyeliner exaggerated and smokey as he gave Patrick the smallest hint of a smile.

"You can do it too, you know," he said quietly.

"I can do what?"

Smiling, Pete pushed him backward so that he was on his back again, Pete's knees on either side of his thighs. "Change. Come on, do it. Let it control you."

It was hard to  _not_ let go of all control when Pete was looking at him like that, so Patrick shut his eyes and exhaled shakily. "How do you do it?"

"I just reach out. You know, not physically. But I let myself fall level with the shadows and reach with my soul, pull with everything I have. You can do it. Focus on the light."

So Patrick did. He let a shudder run through his body, let himself forget everything except the absence of light in all this dark. The imbalance was going to kill him, he just knew it. He felt everything inside of him—his soul, his mind, his heart—expand into the corners of the room and just  _push._ It was an intense sensation, his eyes flying open as he gasped for air and felt himself go momentarily blind, pupils rolling back, and then it was gone all at once.

"Weird the first time, huh?" Pete's three voices asked, but they all sounded weak, distracted, entranced. Patrick opened his eyes and Pete was still on top of him, the blackness of his whole ensemble standing out in stark contrast to the white light of the room.

Patrick sat up just a bit and propped himself up with his elbows, staring down at what he could see of his yellow pants, yellow and black suit jacket, and the bow tie around his neck. He reached up to brush a hand against the yellow feather attached to his top hat. "Whoa."

Pete was staring at him with a dark expression, now almost in Patrick's lap. "Damn, Patrick. You have no idea how pretty you are."

Flushing red and rubbing the back of his neck to try and alleviate some of the heat, Patrick said, "Shut up."

"Seriously." Pete brought a hand up to cup Patrick's jaw, pulling at Patrick's bottom lip with his thumb. "Seriously," he repeated. Patrick momentarily blocked out the room, the twist and turn and push and pull of shadows fighting bright light, seeping into places where they shouldn't be and rippling against each other like the ocean after an oil spill.

"Dinner's ready!" a voice yelled from down the hall, and the illusion imploded on itself, yellow sinking into the walls as it evaporated from Patrick's body, leaving him once again in tight black jeans and Pete's sweatshirt.

He pushed Pete away and rolled off the bed. "Coming, Mom!" When he turned back around, Pete was in his street clothes and the room was at its normal state once again. "Lasagna. You're not still vegan, right?"

Dinner was awkward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading <3
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> See you next Friday!


	8. Crawling Up Your Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Bleed Magic by I Don't Know How But They Found Me
> 
> Y'ALL I'M READY
> 
> sorry
> 
> EDIT: the publication date got weird so I posted again. 
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo

"I'm thirsty," Pete whined. "Quench me."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Oh my god, you're fucking crazy." He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler and poured in some of that energy powder, shaking up the bottle to mix it in properly. Pete gratefully took the bottle and downed a third of it in one go and Patrick watched, completely mesmerized by his ability to drink so fast. As Pete's Adam's apple bobbed along to each gulp, Patrick subconsciously licked his lips. Water was dripping down Pete's chin as he exhaled, wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back to Patrick.

Neither Pete nor Patrick had mentioned the previous night—what had happened just before dinner. Patrick couldn't even bring himself to try turning into...whatever that yellow _thing_ was again. He knew he wouldn't be able to see himself like that without thinking about the way Pete's hands had felt on his face. The way Pete had looked at him.

"Jesus Christ, you _were_ thirsty."

"I'm a thirsty thot; you should know this," Pete joked, grinning as Patrick just rolled his eyes again and scribbled Pete's name on the bottle with a Sharpie.

From behind Pete, Gabe sighed impatiently. "God, I can literally smell the sexual tension."

Pete's grin immediately dropped, as did Patrick's playful smile. They looked away from each other, Patrick awkwardly setting the bottle down on the bleachers as Pete shuffled back onto the field. What an appropriate choice of words, considering the timing. Patrick simultaneously hoped that this was all in his head and things weren't weird, but also that maybe Pete did like him. Even just a little bit. Enough for there to be _tension_.

"Can I have my water now?"

Patrick mixed Gabe's drink as he watched Pete jog back to the soccer pitch.

"You know, I can tell you're totally into him. Pete's a little blind to that stuff."

Face flushed red, Patrick didn't dare look up as he handed over the drink. "I-I'm not—"

"Oh, you definitely are. Either that or you just happen to have a stroke every time he looks at you."

"I don't—"

Gabe took a swig of his drink and shoved it back toward Patrick. "Bullshit. You do. Just so you know," he wiped his mouth with his wrist, "you guys would be cute. You make Pete happy. That's a hard thing to do."

Patrick blushed. "You think so?" he asked quietly.

Nodding, Gabe grinned. "And don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He pretended to zip his lips like a Kindergartner.

Before he could walk away, Patrick sucked in a breath. "Wait," he said, stopping when he realized he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

Raising his eyebrows expectantly, Gabe rocked back and forth on his heels. "You have my attention."

Patrick twisted his mouth into a frown. "Why did Pete tell you that I'm...you know."

Gabe grinned. "You'll have to ask him yourself, babe," and he sauntered off to stand next to Pete on the field. Patrick just stared after him and scribbled his name on the bottle. He sat down, relieved that Gabe was the last person in line.

When practice was finally over, Patrick waited for Pete to be done talking to Gabe and this popular girl, Ashlee Simpson. Pete was grinning and Patrick felt his insides burn with jealousy: Ashlee was one of Pete's exes.

Pete finally gave a little wave and jogged over to the bench Patrick was sitting on next to the water cooler. He supposed it was his to look after now. "Hey, 'Trick, do you wanna' be my date to Ash's party Friday night?"

Patrick snorted to cover up his blush. "Your date?"

Shrugging, Pete grabbed the fucking _heavy_ water cooler with one arm, holy shit, and headed in the direction of his car. "Yeah, my date."

Pete swung the cooler into the back seat and climbed through the driver door. Patrick sat shotgun. "Do you remember when we went to the Valentine's Day dance together?"

He watched as Pete smiled softly at the dashboard. "Yeah."

"That was fun."

"Yeah."

Patrick playfully punched Pete's arm like the super platonic bros they were. "So I'd totally love going to that party with you."

Pete grinned as he started up the car, pulling out of the parking lot. "Cool. It starts at seven so I'll pick you up at eight, is that cool?"

"Oh, you're one of those people that doesn't like showing up on time. Gotcha'."

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

The rest of the week seemed to fizzle in front of Patrick's eyes, disappearing into oblivion when nothing important happened. Patrick had thought that maybe, just maybe Pete would do something. Kiss him. Ask him out. _Anything_. But the days passed like that tension had never even been there.

When Pete picked him up on Friday, Patrick stared out the window of his car and managed to lose himself in his thoughts.

There were a few things, now that he wasn't suppressing his intense attraction to Pete, that Patrick allowed himself to think about. Like back in the first semester of Freshman year when Pete was in his P.E. class and they had that bullshit team building unit. Of course, since the Universe knew what it was doing, apparently, they had been paired up.

"Untangle the string," was the only direction they had been given as the teacher taped bright orange string the their hands, attaching their limbs to each other and making Patrick silently fume.

At the time, Patrick hadn't been able to appreciate Pete's close proximity, Pete's hands all over his body as he had to manually force Patrick to move, his legs on either side of Patrick's hips when they had finally gotten mostly untangled. All that was left to do was for Pete to lift his arms and bring the string out from behind Patrick's back, but he had just laughed and grinned while Patrick spat insults at his face.

Now, it was all Patrick could think about. The heat and the push of hips to hips, the way it had felt when Pete touched him.

He wanted it so bad.

So this party. This party was sure to ruin him, because he knew that Pete was one of those 'make out with everyone in sight' kind of guys. And sure enough, Pete had opened the door, led him inside, and immediately disappeared into the crowd.

Ten minutes later, it seemed like the guests had finally gotten into the beer. Patrick wasn't drunk but he sure acted like it, stumbling through the throng of people, searching for Pete with a red cup of orange juice in his hand.

When Patrick found him, he froze. Pete was standing by the door, huddled next to Ash, his fucking _ex_ , as he whispered into her ear. She giggled and said something back. Patrick suddenly felt his blood boil with nothing but rage. He thought, he assumed, he so stupidly _pretended_ that Pete liked him back. But as he watched the ex lovers just press closer together by the exit, Patrick's only way out of this hellhole, he realized just how naïve he had been.

Stomping off in the other direction, he went on his second hunt of the night.

A few minutes later, after Patrick had seen Pete 'discreetly' trailing him, he finally found Gabe. "Dude, hey! Saporta!"

Gabe's head whipped around, searching for the source of the voice. When his eyes landed on Patrick, he grinned and waved him over. "Patrick, my fav—"

Patrick shoved him into the nearest empty room, slamming the door and locking it behind them. "I need your help."

Gabe blinked. "Uh, yeah. Okay. With what?"

"I think Pete's into Ashlee."

"Again? Oh, god, not her," Gabe groaned, rolling his eyes. "Are you sure? 'Cause she and Pete didn't exactly end things nicely."

Patrick frowned. "They were, like, whispering by the door and stuff. It looked too intimate to be anything else, y'know?"

And then Gabe started laughing. "You saw that? God, dude, you really are the jealous type! Naw, I was there, man. It's platonic."

"You, you were...What?"

"Yeah, I was there. I step away for two seconds to grab a drink and suddenly _you're_ shoving me into a closet. We were all close like that; it's hard to hear in this house. You're gonna' be the crazy girlfriend, aren't you?"

Patrick ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "So, I, you—"

 _Bang_ _bang_ _bang_ _bang_ on the door. "'Trick? Gabe? You guys in here? Is everything okay?" Pete's nervous voice called through the wood.

Gabe placed a hand over Patrick's mouth, who proceeded to lick it. Gabe didn't care. "Uh, we're a little busy," he called back. He sounded like he was trying to sound out of breath.

The banging became more and more frantic. "Gabe, open this fucking door."

Gabe held a finger up to his lips and ran his hands through his hair, deliberately trying to mess it up. Using the back of his hand, he rubbed at his lips and made them appear to be red and flushed. He looked like he has just been— _Oh_ _no_.

He swung the door open, but only a few inches. "Pete, I'm _busy_."

All Patrick could see was Pete's left eyebrow, but it furrowed in some kind of anxious or angry expression. "Who else is in there? Is that Patrick? Gabe, I don't know what the fuck you think you're—"

"Relax, dude!" Gabe said, throwing the door all the way open. "It's just a prank, swear to Jesus."

Pete glared up at him. "Fuck you, man." He looked at Patrick. "Come on, Ash wants us in the living room."

Patrick was shaking. A lot had just happened in the last twenty seconds. But he followed Pete down the slightly less crowded halls, allowing himself to be tugged down beside Pete in a seat for one. They were squished together from knee to shoulder, but Patrick didn't really mind as Pete threw an arm around him. He hoped his shudder wasn't noticeable.

"Alright, kids," Ash said, clapping her hands to get everyone's attention. There were about fifteen other people gathered in their group. "We're playing seven minutes in heaven."

"Isn't that kind of cliche?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ash just rolled her eyes. "It's the proper way to have a party, Pat. And, since you sassed me, you get to go first."

Patrick's eyes went wide. "No. No way, I don't want to—"

"Come on, 'Trick, it'll be fun! Lighten up," Pete said, bumping his shoulder.

His jaw hung open for a moment before he snapped it shut, narrowing his eyes. "You know what? Fine. You win." He stood up and made his way to the closet, turning to face his audience. "Fuck all of you. Don't try anything." He slammed the door and sat in the dark.

A few seconds went by before Ash's voice said, "Hey, Pat? Close your eyes for a sec, okay?"

Huffing, Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. The door creaked open and then closed just as quickly, submerging the room in pitch black darkness once again.

"Listen, I know you probably don't want to say anything just in case I recognize your voice, but please don't be a creep."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it," a voice said, and Patrick knew right then and there that he was right, he _would_ recognize the voice because it was fucking _Pete_.

Patrick felt that rush of anger from earlier return. "Dude. What are you doing?"

"They wanted to send some girl in to, like, ravage you. But I wouldn't let them. 'Cause I know that as much as you like to tell yourself you'd be into that, you would shove her away within the first five seconds. Am I right or am I right?"

Squinting in the darkness of the closet, Patrick tried to make out Pete's outline in front of the door. From his place on the floor, Patrick huffed. "Whatever."

The silhouette grew larger as Pete came nearer. "Can I..?" he asked, and Patrick saw that he was gesturing to the floor beside him against the wall.

"Sure."

They were silent for a moment before Pete broke it once again. "You know, as soon as I said I'd come in here, they all started placing bets about whether or not something would happen." He laughed. "Weird, right?"

"Something, like...What do you mean 'something'?" Patrick's heart fluttered, and he wondered when this all had started. He wondered how long he had been crushing on Pete, and how long it had taken him to realize and furthermore accept it. That whole lunch confession was a total fluke.

"If I'd kiss you or something," Pete said, picking at the laces of his shoes.

Patrick scoffed. "Who says _you'd_ kiss _me_?"

Pete's head snapped up to stare at the younger boy. "What?"

"No, I just mean, who says you would make the first move? I'm not a pussy."

"Patrick..."

Pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, Patrick shrugged. "I'm not saying I would, you know. But if we were ever to, hypothetically. I don't think you'd have the balls to even touch me."

Pete kept facing forward and tilted his head back until it hit the wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and Patrick was so glad his own had adjusted to the dark as he stared at Pete's throat, that neck he wants to cover with bruises. 

"You're right, you know," Pete said quietly.

Patrick was torn out of his thoughts. "Hm?"

"You're right." He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Patrick. "I can't make the first move. I'm too scared."

"You...You 'can't'? You mean you _wouldn't_?"

Pete's unblinking stare didn't even falter. "No. I mean I can't."

Patrick couldn't do much besides surge forward and press Pete's mouth to his.

It was nothing like Patrick had expected. His only thoughts were _This is finally happening it's finally happening I'm finally doing this oh my god, Pete's kissing me!_ But this was Pete Wentz. He only wanted one thing, and he was sure to get it. Yet, instead of pushing Patrick to the floor and ripping all his clothes off, Pete just reached over and held the side of Patrick's face as he climbed into his lap.

Patrick kept one hand under Pete's chin as the other slipped into his hair, the room getting significantly warmer. And holy shit, Pete was opening his mouth; he was inviting Patrick in. The shorter boy did not expect submission, of all things.

Gently sliding his tongue between Pete's lips, Patrick pushed forward and groaned, exploring every part of Pete's hot, wet mouth. He's wanted this for so long—who knows how long, he sure didn't. The kiss was sweet and Patrick savored every moment of it, even though he could feel grains of sand slipping between his fingers as the particles began to drift from the shadows.

Pete had to pull away, taking a short breath of air. "Patrick..." He whispered it more like a moan, a secret in the ear of a one-night stand he'd never have to see again. He grinded his hips down, oh, there it was. Patrick knew it. He fucking _knew_ it.

He shoved Pete off of him, not sending the guy scrambling across the floor like he'd hoped, but close enough so the only things left in Patrick's lap were Pete's feet.

"Patrick, I—"

"Do you think this is funny?" Patrick cut him off. He must just be doing this because he _knows_ , he knows that Patrick has a massive crush on him and he's just being a little shit. He knew Patrick would give in, but only if he acted like he cared and made it feel real for a few moments. Then he could make his move.

But nope. Patrick saw right through him.

Pete just shook his head, eyes wide. "No, Patrick, you don't...I'm just gonna' say it." Pete closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I like you. A lot. Like, in a more-than-friends way. And just the thought of you keeps me up at night and I can't bear to think about what you might say once I stop talking so I'm just gonna' keep talking, because I know that I'm not really your type and you're way too good for me anyway, but it's like I just can't stop thinking about you and it's been absolute torture having to hide it since I didn't want to mess anything up, but you're super fuckin' smart and I was scared that you'd figure it out and I know you don't like me back but—"

"Pete." Patrick couldn't believe what he was hearing. Pete Wentz, hottest guy in probably the whole entire world, was confessing his feelings for Patrick Stumph, certified nerd ( _now complete with superhuman intelligence; buy yours at Sears!_ ). He was kind of dumbfounded—at a total loss for words. "Pete."

Pete's hands were shaking.

Patrick wanted to rephrase: Pete Wentz, the most caring, affectionate, hilarious, ambitious, loving person in probably the whole entire world, had just confessed his feelings for Patrick. The only thing he could say was "Really?"

Pete gave him a crooked smile. "Uh, yeah. I thought that was obvious. You know, from the way I attacked you by the stairs. And in your room. And pretty much every day for the last four years."

Patrick just placed his hands on Pete's shoulders and before he could stop himself, Patrick leaned over and kissed him again.

The response came almost immediately. Pete sighed against his lips like this was the most pleasurable thing to have ever happened to him, and Patrick pulled him in by the waist, struggling a bit as he lifted Pete up onto his lap again but eventually succeeding and holding their bodies together. Pete's tongue flicked out almost timidly, poking at Patrick's lips. He happily complied, parting them just a bit and laughing lightly.

Pete hungrily tasted Patrick's tongue, letting out a few content sighs. Patrick's arms slipped back around Pete's neck like they were meant to be there. Pete tilted his head to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then a line across his cheek to just below his ear. He shifted so that his knees were braced on either side of Patrick's thighs, and Patrick grunted as Pete moved his hands lower, tugging at the waistband of his jeans. He didn't go any farther than just tracing a line across Patrick's abdomen, but then he dropped his head to suck a bruise onto Patrick's neck.

"Oh," was all Patrick said, taking a fistful of Pete's hair in one hand.

Pete grinned against his skin and moved even lower to gently press his lips to Patrick's collarbone, earning a louder moan. "Fuck." He sounded desperate.

Patrick pushed him away a bit. "How much time do we have left?"

Pete checked his phone. "Four minutes." His grin was wide and was almost a source of light in the darkness.

"Okay," Patrick said, grabbing the collar of Pete's shirt and dragging him down into another kiss.

But then Pete moved his hand lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Patrick's jeans. The younger boy gasped and grabbed his wrist. "Pete, stop."

Pulling away, Pete looked guilty. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, no, it's fine," Patrick breathed. "Just not here. Not _now_."

"Oh. So, like...some other time?"

Patrick could feel Pete's grin against his lips, and he couldn't help but grin back. "Yes."

When they exited the closet four minutes later, Patrick thought they had done a good job of fixing themselves, keeping it pretty low key. But as soon as everyone looked up at them, the room erupted into cheers and hideous laughter like they all knew.

"Yeah, that's my boy, gettin' the D!" Gabe shouted, pointing at Pete.

Patrick's face went bright red. "Shut up! We didn't—We didn't _do_ anything!"

Ash hopped off the couch and whispered something in Pete's ear. The other boy's only response was narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. She turned around and shrugged.

"Sorry guys, no gay stuff occurred in that closet. Disappointing, I know." She turned back to Pete. "Well, now that we're both here, I was hoping I could talk to you about something," she said in a low voice, and before Patrick could process what exactly that meant, Ash was closing the space between she and Pete.

"Ashlee, _wait_ ," he said at the same time that Pete ducked his head and shoved her away.

She clapped her hands together and a bright smile spread across her face. " _Ha_! I fucking knew it!"

The room was whooping and hollering once again, and Patrick hated himself for using those words but that was besides the point. He and Pete shared a quick glance from the corners of their eyes, and both of them immediately shifted their gazes to stare at the floor.

"I knew it," Ash repeated, crossing her arms. "I can't believe I just got the cutest couple in the whole Universe together. Me! Can you believe it?" she gushed, turning to Vicky and Hayley.

Pete cleared his throat. "Hey, can you all shut up?"

The partygoers quieted down. One of them, <i>Brendon fucking Urie from Parker Lewis</i>, said, "Dude, we're just happy for you guys."

"I know, but...me and 'Trick still have to, y'know, talk about it. Without an audience. So before you go around telling people we're engaged or some shit, please just let us work it out. On our own."

And Patrick was eternally grateful. Really, he was. But he'd kind of been thinking about this for a long time, and...

"Engaged may be a little too fast, but I wouldn't really mind dating you."

Pete's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Everyone went silent as they watched the scene unfold before them.

"You...You want to...You want to be my boyfriend?" The word sounded strange coming from Pete's mouth. It was a word that Patrick assumed he hadn't ever really said in any context besides _I'm her boyfriend_ or _He's her boyfriend_ or _Look, they're boyfriend and girlfriend_. Never _This is my boyfriend_. Never.

"Yeah." Patrick's mouth was dry. It felt cold every time he breathed in, so he held it instead.

Pete looked shocked for a second. "I...You w-want...," he stuttered. "You want to date me."

Growing more and more nervous with every passing second, Patrick cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do."

And then the single most gorgeous beam Patrick had ever seen manifested on Pete's face. "Patrick motherfucking Stumph, I would love to be your boyfriend."

Patrick couldn't bring himself to care about the cheering anymore; he was being wrapped in Pete's arms, in his boyfriend's arms. Jesus Christ, he had a _boyfriend_. He had the Sandman himself. He had Pete Wentz.

Holy shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF it's happening.
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> See you next Friday! <3


	9. I've Come Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from We Are The Champions by Queen.
> 
> So, you may have noticed my leave of absence. Apparently the universe likes screwing me over because the ending was deleted! Poof! Gone!
> 
> I'm not sure how long it's going to take me to rewrite, but I will try to keep it consistent. I think I'm going to try to finish the ending again and then update weekly after that. I don't think every chapter should take me this long, and we're getting (kind of?) close to the end, so it shouldn't be too terribly long. 
> 
> I'll keep you updated on my Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> Please bear with me. I'm sorry <3

Being Pete's boyfriend was weird. It came with a lot of benefits, such as: random kisses, affectionate hugs, a gorgeous body all to himself (not in a sexual way...yet. Kind of. Okay, they were just _thoughts_ , alright?), just Pete in general, et cetera. Patrick could go on.   
  
The only downside was that people now treated him like royalty. Everybody knew him as Pete's boyfriend and not the sweet nerd he used to be. Oh, also, now Pete kept trying to get Patrick to join him on his superhero endeavors. Possessing hyper intelligence did not mean Patrick wanted to use it.   
  
"Patrick, Patrick, come on," Pete pleaded as he pushed at Patrick's arm.    
  
Patrick rolled his eyes. "Peter. Shut up." They were laying on his bed trying to study for the Chem test next week. At least, Patrick was studying. Pete was poking at his arm and whining.   
  
Scrambling to his knees, Pete crawled across the bed and made a home on top of Patrick's back. "'Tricky, please."   
  
"No! Get off of me you _Neanderthal_!"   
  
Pete leaned down and gave Patrick another one of those random kisses on his cheek, and Patrick just listed to the side to throw Pete off his back. Before Pete could complain, Patrick got up and leaned over him, straddling his boyfriend's waist. "Leave me alone," he said before leaning down and kissing Pete.    
  
Being the total girl that he was, Pete opened his mouth immediately and groaned into Patrick's, who pulled away and laughed. Pete scowled. "Shut up."   
  
"I'm not gonna' fucking _fight crime_ with you, Pete. That's dangerous and I can't even do anything, anyway."   
  
Pete pushed himself up to press a chaste kiss to Patrick's lips once more. "You can do lots of shit. You're a multi-talented superstar, Pattycakes."   
  
Sighing, Patrick decided Chemistry could wait. He laid down, legs tangled with Pete's, head on his chest. "Shut up. I'm tired." Patrick fell asleep moments later to the feeling of Pete's fingers touching his forehead. He should really ask before doing that, but Patrick was asleep, so he didn't protest.    
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
Now, Pete Wentz was not an idiot.   
  
Wait, wait, stop. Hear him out, okay?   
  
He knew that feelings pass. The only things that are forever are what you know, the things you've learned. Even when you grow up and get super old and go insane, you still know all that shit, it's just hiding from you. But all those feelings, sadness and anxiety and mania and happiness, they pass. They go away.   
  
But what Pete felt for Patrick wasn't a feeling at all. It was pure fact: he was irrevocably in love.   
  
And that will never pass.   
  
Do you still think he's an idiot now? Yeah? Well, you're probably right. But his logic is always cleared up when it comes to Patrick, so even though he may still be an idiot, he's a smart idiot, and he knows what the fuck he's talking about. He's the only one that ever knows what he's talking about.   
  
So when he got a call from Ashlee, his ex, he didn't think too much of it. They were over and Pete had Patrick now, the best person probably ever. "Hey, Ash," he said, standing to go to Joe's kitchen. He held up a finger at the other three boys working on the English project due next week, signaling that he'd be back in a moment. He leaned against the wall and listened to her incessant babbling for a little bit.    
  
"So. I was thinking that since I got you and Pat together, I should plan your first date too, right? I mean, it's only been a week, have you been on a date already? Actually, wait, if it's been a week and you haven't taken him on a date, there's something wrong with you, but. Let me plan it if you haven't, or at least your next one."   
  
Pete blinked and lowered his voice. "We haven't been on a date yet. We've just been...hanging out." He walked farther into the room.    
  
He could hear Ashlee's eyebrow raise. "'Hanging out' as in sex? Or 'hanging out' as in that stupid project you forgot about?"   
  
Scowling at the floor, Pete said, "Project. And if we were having sex, it would be none of your business."   
  
"It's completely my business, Petey." She sighed. "So. Date?"   
  
For some reason, Pete thought that letting his ex plan a date for him and the love of his life was a really bad idea. "Ash. No. Let me, okay? It's gonna' be special," he said, hanging up without letting her protest. He turned and headed back into the living room, sitting on the ground next to where Patrick was laying on his stomach.    
  
"What did Ashlee want?" he asked without looking up.    
  
Pete shrugged. "Just talkin' my ear off like she always does. She's annoying; ignore her."   
  
Patrick pursed his lips and nodded. "Gotcha'. So, the three of us were talking about how we're gonna' present your poem thingy, y'know, since you haven't shown it to any of us yet."   
  
Grinning, Pete kissed his boyfriend's cheek and watched the skin flush an embarrassed red. "I've got it, babe, don't worry." Patrick went an even brighter shade of red. "And maybe you can sing it with your gorgeous voice. Have you guys heard him sing? He's a fuckin' angel." He turned to Andy and Joe.   
  
Joe shook his head. "What? No. Dude, I play guitar. Hurley does drums and Pete writes—we could perform it as a band!"   
  
"I play bass, too! Just not very well," Pete said with a beaming smile.    
  
Patrick's eyes went wide. "No, no fuckin' way. You're not gonna' make me sing in front of the class."   
  
"It's either that or I'll kiss you in front of the class."   
  
" _What_?" Patrick yelled, evidently hating that idea already.    
  
Pete nodded. "I will read the poem very dramatically and then kiss you, right on the mouth, tongue and everything. Allow me to demonstrate," he said, rolling Patrick onto his back and climbing on top of him without warning. Before he could start yelling his protests, Pete leaned down and kissed his boyfriend, pushing his tongue forward to open up Patrick's mouth.    
  
In a brief moment of rebellion, Patrick pushed his own tongue into Pete's mouth, and the latter happily obliged. It was only a few seconds before Andy and Joe started shouting at them and throwing pillows, but Joe was laughing more than yelling and Andy was just making disgusted faces.    
  
Pete ignored them and pulled away. "So, what's it gonna' be, gorgeous?"   
  
Patrick blinked up at him and cleaned his foggy glasses. "Uh. I'll sing, I guess."    
  
"Yay!" Pete shouted, clapping his hands and getting off of Patrick. "But we hafta' write this from scratch, so I'd say we start as soon as possible. Is everybody done with their timeline shit and the essay?" When they all nodded, Pete sighed happily. "We're gonna be the best band ever. I'm thinking, 'Arma Angelus Sans Chris.' How does that sound?"   
  
Patrick wrinkled his nose. "That sucks. No."   
  
"Fine, then. What do _you_ suggest, babe?" He grinned when Patrick blushed again at the nickname.    
  
"I—uh, I don't know. But, just, not that. Please."   
  
Pete rolled his eyes fondly. "Whatever you want, I guess. But lemme' get the thingy," he said, hopping up to run to his room and grab the paper he'd scribbled the poem out on. He handed it to Patrick after sitting down again, watching his boyfriend skim over the page.    
  
"This is good. Really fuckin' good," Patrick said, nodding with satisfaction. "But I'll have to rework some of it if we're gonna' make it into a song."   
  
Grinning, Pete pressed another kiss to Patrick's cheek. "This is why I like you so much. You're perfect," he said with a sigh.    
  
Patrick just shook his head and neatly folded up the paper. "Not even close. I'll add some chords and shit. We should meet up somewhere to practice. Who's got a good setup?"   
  
Andy volunteered with a little raise of his hand. "Drum kit's in the basement. Everybody cool with bringin' their stuff?"   
  
Joe and Patrick nodded, and Pete squealed excitedly, clapping again. "This is gonna' be so fucking cool! We're gonna' be the greatest band in the whole goddamn world!"   
  
Patrick narrowed his eyes. "This is a one-time deal, okay? After this, I refuse to sing in front of people. Ever again."   
  
Pete didn't believe him at all, but he just said, "Done deal, Pattycakes. As long as you don't count me as a 'people.'"   
  
"Yeah, whatever."   
  
Pete's heart soared.   
  
⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛   
  
The following day, Pete found himself in Andy Hurley's basement with a bass guitar and his boyfriend. Because he _had_ one. And it was Patrick Stumph.    
  
"Okay, how do we go about writing a song? 'Cause I've never done this before," Pete said. He'd only ever used his bass for covers, and he was even pretty bad at that.    
  
Patrick hefted an acoustic guitar onto his lap. "Well, I was thinking it would go something like this." He began strumming, nothing fancy, just chords, but Pete was amazed. He had no idea Patrick could play guitar, too. And then he started singing, and Pete hadn't heard his voice since that one day...   
  
But that wasn't even mentioning the lyrics. Patrick had reworked them, twisted them around to fall into a songlike pattern without misconstruing their meaning. He threw out the unnecessary bits and kept just the right lines, and it was completely, totally, utterly perfect. As soon as he was done, Pete leapt to his feet and grabbed the sides of Patrick's face, kissing him even harder than the day before. When he pulled away, Patrick wiped his mouth and blushed bright red.    
  
"You're a fucking genius. Completely, one-hundred percent certified genius, I swear to god." Pete was grinning manically, certain that he would scare away little children if any had been around.   
  
Patrick pulled the hat on his head down over his eyes. "Shut up, I'm not. I just...it's easy, you know? With your, with your stuff. The stuff you gave me. You made it easier."   
  
Grabbing Patrick's hand, Pete squeezed it gently. "I can't do _that_ shit, though. No fucking way. That's all you, baby."   
  
Patrick bit his lip, a gesture that made Pete's heart nearly explode. He was gorgeous and he didn't even realize it. "Um, so, we should get to it, then. Joe, have you ever written anything?"   
  
Joe nodded. "Can I see those chords?" Patrick slid the paper across the table and sat back in his chair. Joe looked it over for a little bit before standing and hooking his electric guitar up to one of Andy's amps, turning the treble up a bit. He started strumming experimentally before busting out a riff.    
  
Pete's eyes went wide and his smile followed. "Dude, that was cool. It's like, duh-duh, duh-duh, duh, duh-duh, duh-duh. And then the bass can be like doo, doot-doo, duh-duh, doot-doo. Y'know? Wait, hold on." He got up and plugged his bass into the amp, plucking out the line he wanted.    
  
Patrick raised an eyebrow and stood as well, walking over to Pete and repositioning his fingers. The touch set Pete on fire. "I like the rhythm, but maybe if you go up instead of down on the second part it would be better? So then it's like, doo, doot-doo, dah-dah, doot-doo."    
  
Smiling and ignoring how silly it was to be using all these syllables, Pete tried it out. "Dude, that's so much better. I fucking...You're literally the best." He leaned forward to peck Patrick's lips, earning his millionth blush of the day. He loved that.    
  
"Stop, stop, seriously," Patrick said, laughing a little.    
  
Andy stood wordlessly and went to sit at the throne behind the drum kit, starting with a simple beat. "Start playing or whatever and I'll figure something out."    
  
Pete looked at Joe and started with the bassline. He wasn't sure how fast he should go, but then it didn't matter because he fucked up his fingering. "Shit, um...Joe, can you start? I need to get into the rhythm of it."   
  
Nodding, Joe played the same riff he'd done before. Pete counted a few measures before joining in, screwing up here and there but getting better as it went on. Joe played the same riff a few times, letting Pete get used to it. Eventually, Andy's simple beat got more complicated as he began to build on it, and Patrick started humming quietly. At least, it looked like he was humming. They were playing too loud for Pete to hear.    
  
"Sing it for us, babe!" Pete shouted over the noise, stopping to grab one of the mics off the ground. He watched Patrick blush, grinning widely and picking up the bassline again.    
  
Finally, Patrick started singing what Pete recognized as the first verse, stopping when it was done. Gradually, the drums slowed to a stop and both guitars halted. Pete's eyes were gleaming. "That was awesome!"   
  
"It needs rhythm guitar. Patrick, you play electric?" Joe questioned.    
  
Nodding, Patrick set down the mic. "I can work something out. We need to be writing this all down or something—recording it? I don't know. But we gotta' change it up for the chorus, maybe."   


Pete was still grinning manically. "Doesn't anybody else see this? He's perfect, you're all perfect! We're fucking perfect!"

Patrick timidly took his boyfriend's hand. "Pete. We see it, but it needs a lot of work. Like, a  _lot_ of work."

Kissing the tiny strawberry-blond angel again, Pete just nodded vigorously. "I know. But we can do it. I know we can." They had to.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

Patrick was definitely the jealous type. So when Pete was over one Saturday in May to work on the song, just the two of them, Patrick couldn't help but ask about that call he had gotten from Ashlee.

Raising an eyebrow, Pete smiled crookedly. "She wanted to know about us. It's nothing important."  Patrick hummed and looked over the lyric sheets, unconvinced. "Hey, speaking of us..." Pete poked him in the knee, so Patrick looked up again. Wiggling closer, the older boy moved to whisper in his ear: "Prom is coming up soon. Tickets go on sale Monday."

Patrick shivered. "Yeah? And what about it?" he said with a smile. He was glad Pete understood that he hated huge gestures.

"I was thinking we should go together," Pete said, low and warm against Patrick's ear.

Beaming, Patrick turned his head to press their mouths together before pulling away. "Yeah. Definitely. Of course," he said against Pete's lips.

"Awesome." Pete was wearing that same stupid grin when Patrick opened his eyes. But then the mood was ruined with a loud, obnoxious ringtone. Pete frowned and stood, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "It's Ash," he said, stepping by the door to pick up.

Patrick scowled down at the floor. "Can't you just ignore it?" he grumbled.

Pete opened his mouth to respond, but then Patrick heard the sound of Ashlee's voice on the phone. She was talking very fast. "Wait, Ash, what? Slow down."

Rolling his eyes, Patrick went back to rearranging words and syllables so it would make sense. After about three minutes of Pete's conversation with his ex, Patrick groaned and threw his pencil to the ground. "Just fucking hang up already!" he shouted.

Seeming taken aback, Pete stopped in the middle of the sentence. "I have to go," he said to Ashlee, not waiting for a response before he hung up. "'Trick, what's going on with you?" He looked genuinely worried, which Patrick hated. 

"What's going on with  _me_? You're the one who keeps talking to your ex and ignoring your  _boyfriend_. You just asked me to prom, asshole. Don't interrupt just to fucking gossip with Ashlee Simpson."

Pete scoffed. "Why are you so caught up with this whole Ashlee thing? She's going to prom with Evan, and I broke up with her years ago! That was Sophomore year, Patrick, and I—"  
  
"I'm insecure about it, okay? I'm not used to this! I've never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend or anybody, alright?" His voice got quieter and quieter as he went on, and he stood to be more at eye-level with his boyfriend. "I just don't get why you wouldn't leave me for her at the drop of a fucking hat. Like, she's obviously still into you, Evan or no Evan, and she's hot, way hotter than me, and I don't fucking get it! Why me? Why?"  
  
"Because I'm in love with you!" Pete shouted before a hand flew up to cover his mouth. Almost immediately, the shadows seemed to stretch out from the wall, breaking off into that sand-like substance and pooling at Pete's feet. It began to twist upward as the room got darker, but before Pete could disappear, Patrick grabbed his arm and stomped on the pile of shadowdust.   
  
"Hey, Pete, hey," Patrick said quietly. He was still shocked from the whole 'love' thing, but he could pretend to be calm, right? He could do that for Pete.  
  
Pete was shaking. "I'm sorry, that was too soon, it's way too soon, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."  
  
"No, no, I'm glad you did. It's good to know where you stand in this whole mess." Patrick reached up to delicately touch the side of Pete's face.  
  
"You...You didn't—You don't—"  
  
Patrick stopped him with a kiss. When he pulled back, he grinned and hugged Pete, squeezing his waist and feeling the wetness from Pete's eyes drip onto his sleeve. "You love me," he whispered. "That's fucking awesome."

Pete was blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears away and failing. "I'm so sorry, you don't, you didn't say it back, that was so fucking stupid."

"It's not stupid, Pete. It's okay. It's great. I'm  _happy_ , okay? I like you a lot. We're gonna' be fucking awesome together. We  _are_ awesome together." Patrick couldn't stop smiling.

After a moment, Pete smiled back. It was sheepish and there were still tears, which Patrick had never seen before from Pete, but it was a smile nonetheless. "I love you."

Patrick kissed him again and hugged his boyfriend even tighter. "Thank you. God, thank you, really." He could feel his fears melt away.

Pete Wentz was in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you when I see you <3


	10. Keep A Date With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from About A Girl by Nirvana :)
> 
> Hey everyone! I know it's been forever since I've updated, but I can assure you that I'm very close to finishing this up. The only issue is that all my ideas are for the ending—I'm just having a bit of trouble getting there. But now I have a plan and I like it better than what I did before, so I don't think you'll be disappointed. I'm so sorry I've been gone for so long. Love you all <3
> 
> In other news, I made a Twitter if that's more of your style! Find me at crowntomyhead.
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo

It was the week of the presentation. Patrick had never been more terrified of anything in his entire life. Pete had burst into his first period class on Monday, waving two tickets around and shouting, "We're goin' to Miami, bitches!" He, of course, meant the beach-themed prom. He was promptly kicked out of Patrick's AP calculus.

Now it was Tuesday, and their presentation was Thursday. Patrick felt sick to his stomach, almost like he was going to throw up. And he did. Multiple times.

"Hush, babe, you're okay," Pete said, patting Patrick's back as he puked into the garbage in one of the second-floor bathrooms.

"'m not," he mumbled, getting up and shoving his mouth under the faucet, trying to power-wash the inside of his mouth.

Pete sighed. "If you're really this nervous, I don't want you to feel like you have to sing in front of all those people.

"That's the issue! It's only, like, thirty people!" Patrick said when he had spat out the water. "I'm a fucking _wimp_ , Pete."

"You're not a wimp."

"I am!"

"You're not. And I will still kiss you no matter how many times you throw up, so if this is some kind of repellent tactic, it's not working."

That made Patrick laugh softly, something only Pete seemed able to do when he felt this way. "Don't worry, it's not."

Pete gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Good. Because if you wanted to get rid of me, I think I'd be very sad. I love you."

"Thank you, Pete. And I'm not going to let you kiss me like this. You may not care, but I do. It's gross."

"I'm glad you think I'm gross."

Patrick rolled his eyes fondly. "You don't have to stay here, you know. The door's right there."

"Perfect; now I know where to take you when I inevitably end up carrying you out of this bathroom."

"What—"

Pete lifted Patrick into the air and whisked him out into the hall, laughing as Patrick squeaked in surprise.

"Pete, Pete, put me down!" he yelled, Pete's laughter echoing through the empty halls.

"What's your sixth period, my love?"

He kicked his legs frantically, eventually giving up and sighing. "French. Room C-three-ten."

Pete smiled his toothy white grin and started off down the hall, up the stairs and to the C wing. "Mon petit amour," he sing-songed, spinning around and making Patrick feel dizzy.

"Dude, I just threw up. Don't make me do it again."

Smiling apologetically, Pete pulled the classroom door open and plopped Patrick down in the doorway. "Your package, Madame Sauer," he said with a bow. "Don't worry, it's excused. I'm his pass." Patrick blinked at the teacher, blushing brightly as the class stared at him.

"Monsieur Wentz, please go back to class," Mme. Sauer said, giving both of them annoyed looks. Pete tipped an imaginary hat, grinned at Patrick and left.

Patrick would never live that down.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

By Wednesday, Patrick, Pete, Andy and Joe had practiced the song thirty-four times total. Patrick was still freaking out. Pete was still escorting him to classes halfway through the period.

But then, almost as if by magic, it was Thursday.

And Saturday was prom.

Patrick had forgotten all about it. He was excited, yeah, but the most he'd been doing all week was stressing about this project. And now he was wondering if he was supposed to have done something big for Pete. Rent a limo? Buy the boutonnieres? Pete had done the Valentine's Day dance pretty well. There was no way Patrick could live up to that.

But he had no time to plan anything, since he was currently standing frozen in front of his entire English period as Andy and Pete lug a drum kit into the room. Joe patted his shoulder, trying to be comforting but coming across mostly awkward.

And then the teacher was introducing their group and everyone was looking at him expectantly, and Joe was turning down an amp and Pete was turning his up. He couldn't believe they'd gotten permission to do this.

Andy quietly counted them off, and then he and Joe were starting the song. Patrick wanted to cry. He definitely would be able to if he let himself.

He felt Pete's presence at his side. "You'll do great, babe," he whispered into Patrick's ear, and Patrick almost leaned into him, but he managed to restrain himself. He shut his eyes and started singing.

Patrick couldn't hear himself. He was sucked into a dreamlike world, and all he saw was Pete hugging him and Pete kissing him and the Sandman telling him, "You're my Benzedrine, Patrick. You're like my little love doctor." He'd said that during a particularly heated makeout session that had been sure to lead somewhere else if Patrick hadn't started laughing so hard.

Gradually, the memories faded and Patrick heard his voice singing the final notes and Andy hit twice on the crash and it was done. Suddenly, Patrick felt hands on his face and lips against his and he was melting into Pete's touch.

Everyone was clapping and there were a few teasing whistles at the kiss. Pete grinned and bowed when he pulled away, grabbing Patrick's hand. The shorter just stood there in shock, blushing furiously as people cheered.

Patrick leaned over to whisper in Pete's ear: "Was that you? Showing all that to me?" Pete just beamed at him knowingly. Patrick bit his lip. "I love you," he said before pulling away.

He blushed again at Pete's shocked expression. He never thought that he'd have that kind of effect on someone like Pete Wentz. Patrick pulled his hand away and went over to help Andy move the drum kit, not wanting to have this conversation with Pete in front of the whole class.

When they had put everything away, Patrick slipped back to his seat. Joe plopped down beside him and Pete shot the brunette a dirty look. Patrick blushed brighter and sunk down in his seat.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

"Patrick!" he heard being shouted at him from down the hall. He turned around and watched Pete sprinting toward him, skidding to a stop.

He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, excited energy radiating from his skin. "Say it again."

Patrick went pink again. "Say what?"

"Say it."

He stalled for a moment, looking everywhere but at Pete. Eventually, he poked Pete's foot with his toe. "I love you."

Pete beamed, grabbing Patrick's face and kissing him again. "So what did it? Was it my incredible bass skills?"

Patrick rolled his eyes and pressed his face to Pete's chest. The older wrapped his arms around Patrick. "No. You helped me through my stage fright. You always know just what to do."

Pete kissed the top of his head. "Because I love you too. And I know you."

He nuzzled Pete's neck and moved back, tugging his boyfriend down the hall. Pete was giving him regular rides home now, so Patrick led them to his boyfriend's car.

Once they got to Patrick's apartment, he kissed Pete's cheek and slipped out of the car. "I love you!" the taller called, watching Patrick go up to the door.

Patrick smiled sheepishly. "I love you too."

When he got up to his apartment, his mother was waiting for him, which was a surprise. She typically wasn't home.

"Hi, honey. How was school?"

He tilted his head. "It was fine. Why are you home?"

"Oh, I just got off work early. What's this?" She held up a long slip of paper, the thick notecard material dyed yellow and blue.

Patrick's stomach churned. "It's a prom ticket."

Patricia nodded. "I see. Are you going with friends or a date? I haven't heard you talking about anyone in particular."

"Um, I...I'm going with Pete."

She raised an eyebrow. "Again, huh? Is it the same deal as the Valentine's dance or different?"

Patrick's cheeks flushed red. "Um...We're kind of dating."

Patricia's eyes lit up. "You are?"

"Yeah."

"That's great, honey! I'm so proud of you," she gushed. Patrick wrinkled his nose and prepared himself for a very long talk about safety and the rules when Pete was over. He got exactly what he expected.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

It was Friday and Patrick hadn't been able to come up with a plan for prom. He figured he might just keep it lowkey, maybe walk Pete to the school and just get him some flowers or something. He still had no idea how to do this boyfriend thing.

But it quickly became evident that Pete had different plans. "I'll pick you up at six-thirty, okay? Arrival's between seven and half-past," he said to Patrick during lunch.

Patrick nodded. "Do you need me to coordinate outfits with you this time? Wear a matching suit? Dye my hair black?"

Grinning, Pete ruffled his strawberry-blond hair, earning a whine and a smack to the hand. "While you would look smokin' hot and—dare I say—sexy as hell with black hair and ' _PROPERTY_ _OF_ _PETE_ _WENTZ_ ' tattooed across your forehead, let's not do that quite yet."

Patrick blushed brightly. "Hush your face," he said, kicking his legs frantically under the table.

"Nuh-uh. You're my sexy boyfriend and I reserve the right to say as much."

"You can't call me sexy unless you're actually planning on having sex with me!"

Pete hummed, giving Patrick a curious look.

"What? Don't look at me like that," he squeaked, ears going red.

So maybe he shouldn't have brought up sex. He wasn't actually sure if Pete understood how gay sex worked, after all. Apparently Patrick was his 'gay awakening,' or 'bi awakening' if that even makes sense. Patrick wasn't even sure if Pete wanted to have sex with him. Ever.

But then Pete was leaning over, breathing warm breaths on an already-warm cheek. "What do you think prom night is for, 'Tricky?" His face went bright red, and he could barely stutter his way through the rest of lunch.

Oh god.

Patrick was going to die.

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

And then it was prom. Patrick could honestly not be more terrified. He wasn't sure if Pete had been joking or not, but he was still nervous for tonight. The dance was being held at a hotel in downtown Chicago (which, despite how much they claimed to love Chicago, both he and Pete had only been to twice. They lived in the suburbs; what did you expect?).

Patrick heard a knock at the door and a shout of, "I have come to steal my love away for the night! Thine son hath the face of an angel and a mouth like the softest goose down! Art thou willing to turn over thine son's affections to the hands of a tramp such as I?"

As soon as his speech was over, Patrick had managed to sprint down the hall and throw the door open. "Shut up!" he shouted, face scarlet and burning as usual. "You're insane!"

Patricia laughed from the kitchen. "Come here, boys! I made you brownies!"

Patrick groaned, grabbing Pete's hand and dragging him to the kitchen. The older boy was still grinning like an idiot, which was awfully annoying. But also insanely attractive. What universe would allow _him_ to date _Patrick_?

Patrick's mom was grinning at them as they entered the kitchen, and Patrick let go of Pete's hand as fast as possible. Of course, Pete took this as a challenge and kissed to corner of Patrick's mouth. Right in front of his mom.

Blushing bright red again, Patrick covered his face while his mother and Pete laughed at him. "You guys are so mean to me!" he whined, banging his head against the fridge.

"Only because you're adorable when you blush, darling," Pete said dramatically, ruffling strawberry blond hair.

That just made Patrick get redder. "Just eat your brownies, Peter."

After Patricia and Pete had thoroughly bonded over tea, brownies and the quickest ways to embarass Patrick, his mom escorted them to the door with a wide grin on her face.

"Don't get into too much trouble, boys," she said as she waved them off.

Patrick rolled his eyes. His mother was such a cliché.

Leaning close to Patrick's ear, Pete whispered, "We could get into all sorts of trouble," before opening the limo door for Patrick. He barely had time to blush before Pete was coaxing him into the car.

Patrick was pleasantly surprised to learn that they were alone in the limo besides the driver. He thought Pete would want to bring Gabe and Erin along or something. But then Pete was in his lap and his lips were on Patrick's and suddenly everything made a whole lot more sense.

"Hey, dude, stop, wait," Patrick said when he moved back to breathe, reaching up to wipe the fog from his glasses and run a hand through his hair. "What was that?" he asked, panting hard.

Pete just offered his trademark Wentz Grin, ruffling Patrick's hair and pointing upward. Patrick followed his boyfriend's gaze, staring at the clump of mistletoe dangling from a string on the ceiling.

"What the—Dude, it's not even Christmas," the blond protested incredulously.

Pete giggled, poking Patrick's nose. "I'm making up for last year."

It took Patrick a moment to understand, eyebrows furrowed and eyes searching the air for an answer. But then his vision seemed to clear. He blushed. "Oh. You mean. Oh."

Nodding, Pete nuzzled the younger boy's neck, licking a warm, wet line up the curve of his jaw. Patrick bit his lip as Pete started talking, voice low and gravelly: "You were so cute. I felt so bad for making you upset."

"I wasn't upset. Just confused."

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛

 _Patrick was leaning in the doorway of his English room, glancing around at its empty desks. "Hello? I know that Mr. Curtis definitely didn't send that e-mail. Who are you?"_ _It was the day before Christmas break of his Junior year, and honestly Patrick just wanted to go home. But the e-mail he'd gotten was clear in its intent:_

dear mr. stumph,

pls meet me in my room after school. its important. ur failing.

see ya,  
mr. curtis

 _Now, obviously Patrick knew this was definitely not sent by his English teacher. Mr. Curtis would've had much better grammar. Besides, Patrick was definitely not failing. He had a 4.0 (5.0 if you count the AP bonus), and there was no way he could do anything to screw that up now. It was the end of the semester. Also, the address that had sent the e-mail was_ weezyp@aol.com _, which definitely was not Mr. Curtis' e-mail._

_"Hello? Who asked to meet me?" he called softly, the words quiet but echoing through the room. Patrick shut the door, which was quite possibly a huge mistake._

_He heard some rustling before a dark shape popped out from behind Mr. Curtis' desk, shouting, "Merry fuckin' Christmas, Stumphy!"_

_Patrick flinched, staring wide-eyed at the boy in front of him. Pete was grinning manically, hands on his hips. "Dude. What do you want from me?"_

_Pete immediately frowned, dropping his hands and reaching out to touch Patrick's arms. The shorter hissed and snatched them away. "Hey, hey, calm down. I just brought you in to say hi!" Pete explained with a reassuring beam._

_Patrick was not amused. "Dude, I'm gonna' miss my bus." He didn't take the bus. "We're not even friends; I don't know you." He knew Pete very well. From an outside perspective, at least._

_Pouting, Pete crossed his arms. "Alright, fine. But you could get to know me, y'know. Or at least try." He pointed up at the ceiling. "Our mouths could get to know each other pretty well...," he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes._

_Patrick glanced up to see mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. His jaw dropped. "What the fuck? Did you seriously hang that up there just to make fun of me?" He wasn't aware Pete knew about his bisexuality. But apparently he did._

_"What? No! I hung it up there so you'd kiss me. Pucker up, buttercup," Pete said before closing his eyes and leaning closer, lips puckered._  
_Patrick just growled and shoved Pete away. "What the hell is wrong with you? How many guys have you brought in here to fuck around with? You're such an asshole!"_

_Pete opened his eyes, frowning again. "I just brought you. That's all."_

_The blond rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Uh-huh. I'm sure. You're so fucking terrible." He turned on his heel, stomping out of the room and starting the walk home._

_Little did he know that in a classroom twenty feet away, a maybe-not-so-straight Pete Wentz was banging his head against the wall underneath a bundle of mistletoe._

⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛⊛ 

Pete shook his head. "You were angry at me. You thought I didn't mean it."

"But you barely even knew me!"

"Yet I was still halfway in love with you."

Patrick just blinked, cheeks heating up. "Hush your face." 

Pete grinned widely, running a hand through strawberry-blond hair and watching his boyfriend's skin turn pink, the corners of his mouth pulled in as he pursed his lips. "You're so cute. You were my gay awakening. My gaywakening." He wrinkled his nose, shaking his head at the word. "No, I don't like that."

"I don't either. Can we just make out now?" He blushed deeper at Pete's shimmering grin.

"Of course, baby." He leaned down, hands on the sides of Patrick's warm face. After a good half hour of nothing but heat and the sound of lips on lips, they felt the limo come to a stop.

Pete whined as he pulled away, ignoring the roll of Patrick's eyes. "Come on!"

"Yeah, exactly. Come on," said Patrick as he wriggled out from under Pete, opening the door and climbing out. He held out a hand for his boyfriend, who gladly took it and made a whole show of kissing Patrick's knuckles.

Patrick rolled his eyes again, accompanied by a blush. "So weird."

"You love me."

He bit his lip. "That I do." Patrick pulled the taller boy up the steps of the hotel, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

"Don't worry—I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll see you when I can. I'm trying <3
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo
> 
> Twitter: crowntomyhead


	11. Unforecasted Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Brianstorm by Arctic Monkeys :)
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo  
> Twitter: crowntomyhead
> 
> Enjoy <3

Patrick felt like he couldn't breathe. It had nothing to do with the way Pete's hand felt in his, nothing to do with how close they were standing, nothing to do with how Pete kept pecking Patrick's cheek like it was no big deal—except it had everything to do with all of those things. He knew Pete noticed; there was no way he didn't. But he seemed blissfully ignorant as usual.

"So. Snacks first?" Pete asked, already dragging Patrick to the snack table, irritatingly sure hand pressed to a sweaty palm.

Patrick answered by stuffing a cookie in his mouth with his free hand. He felt like he was going to puke again.

"This band sucks," Pete commented lazily, gesturing at the stage with a cookie crushed in his own clumsy fist. He sprinkled the crumbs onto his tongue. Patrick made a face.

Pete was totally bullshitting—the band was actually pretty good. But anything that wasn't Patrick would always and forever 'suck' in Pete's mind. It was like a simple fact: the sky is blue, the sun is hot, and Patrick was the best thing to happen to the music industry since ever.

"Shut up; don't you have some superhero-ing to do?"

Pete giggled, which was actually an adorable sound. "Not at the moment. But if I did, you'd be coming with me."

Patrick made a noise of protest, stomping his foot. "I already told you _no_!"

"And God told me yes."

"You can't talk to God."

Pete waved a hand dismissively. "I can so. I'm talking to Him right now."

Patrick floundered. "That makes no sense! I'm not God and even if I was I just said no!"

"Shush. Come on." Pete led his boyfriend out to the dancefloor, gripping his hips and pulling him close.

"Why do I have to be the girl?" Patrick whined softly. 

Pete grinned. "You don't _always_ have to be the girl," he said before biting his lip. Patrick was left blushing and gaping and looking like an overall idiot. His boyfriend didn't seem to mind all that much.

After about an hour of Pete whispering compliments and Patrick blushing deeper and deeper, Pete's phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished around in the right pocket of his dress pants, pulling out his phone and groaning. "Not during prom. Come on!"

Patrick peered at the phone, screen upside-down. "What? Is it Wrexa?"

"Yeah," Pete said with a frown. "I feel like Spiderman from that new movie with Tom Holland. Except it's not homecoming."

The younger boy just sighed, letting go of Pete. "You have to go. It's fine. Our city is on the line."

Raising his eyebrow, Pete grabbed Patrick's arm. "You're coming with. I told you."

"What? No, Pete, I—" He was already being dragged out the door. "We paid to be here! Come on, man!"

" _I_ paid to be here. You just looked pretty while I did it."

That distracted Patrick momentarily, spluttering out arguments as Pete lifted him up, carrying him down the steps and across the street. "Pete! Put me the fuck down!"

Pete froze. "Sh."

"No, I'm serious! Put me down or—"

He was shushed again, this time more aggressively. Patrick closed his mouth. 

Turning around slowly, Pete stared down the desolate street. He could hear the wind blowing newspapers and leaves across the ground over the low thrum of Mr. Brightside in the hotel ballroom. It was like something straight out of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Chicago Edition. It was too quiet.

Suddenly, a loud _boom!_ echoed off the buildings and there was Wrexa in her giant robot-looking thing, stepping around the corner. Pete clapped a hand over Patrick's mouth before he could scream, carrying him into an alleyway and setting him on the ground. He didn't remove his hand, and Patrick just gripped his wrist with a wide-eyed look of fear.

A few minutes passed where Patrick watched the stars seem to get brighter and brighter in the sky, but then he rrealized it was just because everyone in the city was turning their lights off. The steady _boom_ , _boom_ , _boom_ , _boom_ of giant metal feet clanging across the pavement rang in Patrick's ears. Wrexa wasn't interested in tearing down buildings tonight. She just wanted the Sandman.

When Pete finally dropped his hand, Patrick was visibly shaking. The threat had never been this real to him: he'd never been this close. "What are you gonna' do?" he whispered, but before he could get half the words out the shadows were solidifying and snaking their way around Pete. In front of Patrick no longer stood Pete Wentz, boyfriend of the century, but Sandman, superhero of the millennium. 

"You have to help me. I've never been able to defeat her 'cause I'm not smart enough to figure out how," three voices said, dark eyes pleading. "You have to help me," he repeated.

Patrick's voice quivered: "I can't. I don't know how."

"You can do it. All you have to do is listen to my instructions. You don't even have to let her see you, alright? Just..." He bit his lip in concentration, placing both his pointer fingers on Patrick's temples. He closed his eyes and suddenly Patrick felt an overwhelming sensation of _protect_ _protect_ _protect_ , and those were definitely not his own thoughts.

' _Can_ _you_ _hear_ _me?_ ' Pete's voice said, though his mouth wasn't moving.

Patrick blinked. ' _Yes_.'

' _Good. I'm going to go after her, okay? I need you to watch, though. And I might need you to climb up inside that robot thing. If that's cool with you._ '

"It's really not," Patrick said out loud.

"Oh. Uh. Well, you're gonna' have to do it anyway," Pete said, frowning. "I'm sorry."

Patrick shook his head. "No. Please. Baby, don't make me—"

"Hey. Hey, Patrick. Look at me. It's okay. You're gonna' be fine. We don't have a lot of time." He kissed Patrick's cheek. ' _There's only twenty minutes until this wears off. We have to go now._ '

Patrick took a shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, fine. It'll be quick. Right?"

Pete bit his lip, looking skeptical. "Right," he said anyway, and Patrick didn't have time to respond because Sandman was already disappearing into the shadows on the wall.

' _Okay, she's around the corner. I'm gonna' need you to go out on the street_ ,' Pete's voice directed. ' _Oh, and don't forget. You're Dr. Benzedrine now. You can't let people see who you are_.'

Patrick groaned, leaning against the wall and focusing on all the light of the stars and the faint glow of fresh cigarette butts littered across the ground. He felt the energy shift around him and suddenly he was in his bright yellow suit, a long feather accenting his hat. Stealthy.

He went out into the street, taking a deep breath. ' _I'm out here. What now? Where are you?_ '

' _I'm on the wall. She's a few blocks down—too far away to know you're here. East Ninth and South State. Just be quiet_.'

Patrick sighed. He was sick of this already. He looked ridiculous, felt ridiculous, and he'd never wished more in his life that Pete could just be normal. But he wasn't. That was part of his charm.

' _Hey_ ,' Pete's voice said, ' _I heard that_.'

' _There's a supervillain on the loose and that's what you're worried about?_ '

' _Shut up; I can't see her._ '

Patrick rolled his eyes, quietly heading down South Michigan and turning onto East Ninth. He wished he had that fancy sand like Pete did.

But then he didn't. He gulped as he saw Wrexa down the street, giant robotic legs clambering across the pavement. Patrick wanted to go home and cuddle with Pete and fall asleep in his arms. Or Pete in his arms. It really depended on if either of them still had arms after this.

He watched Wrexa stop, but Patrick kept creeping closer, now only a block behind as he hid in a doorway. He watched a shadow explode from the side of a building as if a huge magnet was pulling the darkness off, Pete in its midst. The Sandman tumbled down the street, shadowdust holding him at least ten stories above ground. Patrick looked on in awe.

' _I'll keep her distracted. You just climb up the leg and find the control hatch_.'

' _For someone who claims to not be smart enough to dismantle this robot, you sure know a lot about it._ '

He could practically hear Pete's eyes roll. ' _Because I've done research. I just can't remember which wire does what and all that shit._ '

Patrick grunted, unimpressed as he kept walking. The sound of Wrexa and Pete throwing punches and being stupid masked Patrick's footsteps. He was about thirty feet away when he heard the sound of a news helicopter hovering overhead.

A spotlight dropped from the door, aimed at Pete as he zipped around, shadows carrying him all over to attack Wrexa from all sides. Patrick was only fifteen feet away, so close to being able to grip this thing's foot—

The spotlight nearly blinded him as the reporters' cameras worked to get a good shot. He hissed and covered his eyes, and Wrexa had to have seen him because she suddenly took off down the street. Patrick turned his attention to the sky so he could glare at the spotlight, raising his middle finger defiantly. He figured he'd at least try and look intimidating like this.

Pete lowered himself just enough to snatch Patrick up from the ground, shadowdust carrying them both after Wrexa. "The fuckin' news," Sandman muttered. "They're so fuckin' stupid." Patrick just grumbled to himself, arms crossed as the helicopter raced after them. 

Pete suddenly shot upward, shadowdust bringing Patrick right up beside him. The taller boy managed to grip the nose of the helicopter just before it rammed into him, glaring through the window. "You're an idiot!" he shouted at whoever could hear him over the roar of the choppers. Pete shoved the helicopter backward, sending it sailing through the air until the pilot managed to get a hold on it and zip as far away from the scene as possible.

"I'm sorry they got you, 'Trick," Pete said as he continued to zoom through the buildings, shadowdust clinging to his legs and tumbling down the street in a giant mound.

"It's okay. We can still do our job," Patrick said with a reassuring smile, wind whistling in his ears.

Pete carefully touched down on Lake Street, quietly passing the Staytion Bar through The Gateway. He approached the riverwalk on foot, taking Patrick's hand and slipping around the corner. There was Wrexa, barely fifty yards away. Pete pressed a kiss to Patrick's cheek. "Stay here. She won't go near the bank," he said, nodding toward MB Financial across the street.

Patrick nodded. "Be careful," he warned before going over to stand against the window, hiding between it and a big concrete pillar.

It was a few minutes of silence. Patrick started to get worried, but he wouldn't chance a look down the street. Wrexa could be anywhere if she had gotten out of that damn robot.

' _I got her. She's on foot over by the water taxis past North Clark Street_.'

' _Dude, I don't even know where that is. Is she far from her legs?_ '

He heard Pete sigh. In his brain. ' _Yes. Now go!_ '

Patrick bolted down the empty street, breaths ragged as he approached the giant pair of metal legs. ' _Alright, I'm here. What now?_ '

' _There should be a little hatch in the right leg. See that skinny ladder? That's where it leads_.'

He groaned. ' _I see it._ ' Sure enough, there was a black metal ladder that almost blended in completely with the rest of the robot. Shakily, he began to climb. It creaked and shuddered underneath his weight, and, come on, he wasn't that chubby. This was just insulting.

Patrick managed to get up to the bulky square door, tugging on the handle with one hand, the other gripping the top rung. ' _It's not opening_.'

A few moments of silence, and then: ' _Bust the lock._ '

He punched the padlock on the handle as hard as he could, and it (surprisingly) popped off, the hatch swinging open as Patrick ducked. His hand (unsurprisingly) hurt. A lot.

"Ow, shit," he hissed, climbing inside and clumsily falling to the floor. He got to his feet, feeling around for some kind of light source besides a few tiny red, blue and green lights blinking along the walls.

' _It's too dark._ ' No response came.

After a few moments of convincing himself Pete was just busy fighting, Patrick calmed down enough to focus all his brainpower on the task at hand. _Light light light light light._ A faint glow radiated from the center of the room. Patrick stepped back to see what it was, but the light followed him. He glanced down at his hands. He was glowing. 

"Well. Love that for me," Patrick muttered, squinting and looking around at all the machinery. His eyes landed on a pair of wide brown irises staring back at him from behind a console. "What the— _Chris_?" he asked, exasperated.

Chris was shaking with fear. "What the fuck are you? And why the hell did you break into my leg?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo  
> Twitter: crowntomyhead
> 
> Thanks for reading! Maybe see you next Friday? I honestly have no idea. Let's hope so.


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